


Doing the Lambeth Walk

by blamebrampton



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, urban drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-04 00:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blamebrampton/pseuds/blamebrampton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are only three traditional choices for the cashed-up hero after victory. Harry Potter is too young to settle down and provide the wizarding world with a happy ending, and has too acute a sense of humour to spiral downwards into a spectacular flame-out. That leaves a life of good works. Choosing to lead it in Muggle Brixton comes with its own set of challenges, including Malfoys in the biscuit aisle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doing the Lambeth Walk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fire_juggler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fire_juggler/gifts).



> This was written for the 2011 Glompfest as a gift for fire_juggler, who is relentlessly brilliant in her support for fandom, from rec lists to podficcing. It was a pinch-hit, which could have been a bigger story with a bit more time, but hers was a fascinating prompt of Harry turning his back on the wizarding world and such a lovely person deserved a fic even if it was a bit rushed!
> 
> Many thanks to the wonderful jadzialove for her beta-ing skills under typically trying circumstances and to raitala for polishing and prodding. All remaining daftness is me spiting their brilliance. Thanks also to the Glompfest mod team for their general genius and specific tolerance of people who think they have a really easy workload, but then realise they do not (this would be less embarrassing had I not been my own boss at the time). Also, The Queen was not as bad a pub as it is made out to be in this story. Alas, it did end up a victim of gentrification. Sorry to actual residents of Brixton, I have doubtless cocked up many things, being only an occasional visitor. 
> 
> ****************

**Doing the Lambeth Walk**

The Victoria Line was always gruesome compared to the Northern at this time of day. People had more bags of shopping, more pushchairs, more kids, the occasional bike and today there was one young girl with a giant suitcase. 

Harry knew that half an hour later there would be a brief quiet period before the school rush began, followed by the proper busy period, then a slow tapering off into the night when the Tube was mostly exhausted workers and kids off on a night out. He’d have waited if he could, but the call had said it was urgent, so here he was on his day off.

Everyone piled out at Brixton, and the mood of the crowd lifted as they saw the escalators were working. Harry found himself behind the girl with the suitcase and in front of a young mother who was promising her four-year-old twins they could watch telly when they got home if they could just hold off having a meltdown until they got there. 

Suitcase Girl turned left, which was the way Harry was headed. Harry found himself close behind her as they waited to cross Coldharbour Lane. She was dressed primly and her bag was expensive, which were both a little out of place here. One of the aimless lads – Yoof, Celeste called them, and Harry had named this one Skater Yoof in his head – who spent their days skate-boarding on the concrete outside the library whistled at her, called her Princess and asked her if she’d like a black man.

She smiled sweetly and replied, ‘No thanks, I’ve already got one,’ before heading off towards Loughborough Junction. 

Skater Yoof laughed, and his mates laughed at him and everything was fine. Harry grinned and turned into the library. Sure, Skater Yoof was a notable local bag-snatcher, but it was a point of honour that he only took from people who had it coming – Suitcase Girl had just earned a pass. 

Coming to Brixton was a bit like moving to Hogwarts for the first time, Harry thought. There were complex new rules surrounding most social interactions, and you were supposed to know them, even if they were never explained. Status was judged by the strangest of measures, and offence, once taken, was lasting. But outsiders could also be made welcome if they treated the locals with respect and played the game properly. And when all was said and done here, if you fucked up royally, the worst that was likely to happen was your wallet would be stolen or your nose broken, which made a pleasant change from wars and Voldemort.

Melly was waiting for him in the foyer. ‘Hello Harry,’ she said, kissing his cheek. ‘She’s up through here. She used to come in to read a few years ago, but I haven’t seen her since. I thought she was living with her son in Essex, but apparently not.’

He followed her through into the first floor reading room, where an old woman was sleeping in one of the chairs, cheap nylon bags crammed with what seemed to be her worldly possessions stacked on and under the table around her.

‘Gail?’ Melly called out the woman’s name quietly, then tapped her gently on the arm. ‘Wake up, Gail. Harry’s here, he’s going to take you to the Centre and give you a nice safe place to sleep.’

Gail opened her eyes and blinked crossly at Melly. ‘I was _already_ asleep,’ she said, crossly. ‘And I like it here.’

‘We’ve got electric blankets,’ Harry offered. ‘And free food and telly. There’s a clinic, and a dance hall, and a garden, and loads of people, from families with little kids up to quite a few people of your generation who live with us.’

Gail peered at him suspiciously. ‘Are you going to take my kidneys?’ she asked.

‘No,’ Harry replied in all seriousness. ‘No payment at all. There’s a Trust that covers all the costs, so you can keep your kidneys.’

‘Oh,’ said Gail. ‘Oh, well if there’s a Trust, that’s all right.’

Harry helped her to her feet and offered to carry her bags, which she graciously allowed. 

Melly led the way out of the library. Chatting as they went she told Harry that Gail used to live nearby and was famous locally for walking at least ten miles a day.

‘Still can,’ Gail insisted. ‘When me knees are feeling up to it.’

‘We can walk to the Centre,’ Harry suggested. ‘It’s on Kellett Road.’ It was less than five minutes at an amble, while a taxi could take forever to arrive.

‘Will you carry all that all the way?’

‘Of course.’

‘Good boy. All right, then. It’s good to see young boys who still help old ladies. Though I don’t think much of this Centre if you’re their idea of a staff member. You look like you’re on your way home from university.’

Harry smiled at her teasing. She definitely wouldn’t want to know that he was the Centre’s idea of a Trustee and Chairman, too. ‘They give me all the lovely jobs, like coming to visit Melly and meeting you,’ he said

‘Oh, you’re silver-tongued. Come on, then, sunshine, let’s be off. But you call and make sure he hasn’t killed me for my organs, dear.’

This last was addressed to Melly, who promised faithfully to drop by in person after work.

Harry led Gail down towards Saltoun Road, chatting as they walked. ‘So we’ll set you up in your room, and then you can have a nice cup of tea or a meal if you’d like, and you can nap or there’s lots of activities and other people you can chat with if you prefer. Would you like us to call your son?’

‘Oh no, dear,’ Gail said. ‘He threw me out. Told me I had to go or he’d set the dogs on me.’

‘That’s a bit rough,’ Harry sympathised.

‘And it’s not as though he even owns any dogs,’ Gail continued. 

Harry nodded. A year-and-a-half ago he would have been appalled on Gail’s behalf, but he had learned. It was more likely that her son was frantically searching for her and that missed meds, or a worsening of Alzheimer’s, or some other medical problem had been responsible for her arrival at the library. Celeste or Rob, the Centre’s doctors, would be able to take a look at her once they reached the Centre. Fingers crossed Gail would have a check-up and a nap and be home in time for dinner.

Celeste was in the main common room when Harry and Gail arrived, so he handed Gail over with introductions and promises of tea on his return, then took her bags up to the nicest free room available. Checking the door was shut, he Transfigured one of the teacups on the dresser into a large bunch of flowers.

Gail and Celeste were walking into Celeste’s surgery as Harry came back downstairs. ‘All right you two?’ he asked.

‘Absolutely fine,’ Celeste replied. ‘Gail’s agreed to help me out with my studies by letting me give her a quick physical, so I can practise.’

It was a line she often used with patients who were a bit disorientated. Some resisted being looked at by a doctor, but most were happy to help out someone who looked young enough to be a student. Celeste was 15 years older than Harry, but would have passed for his slightly older half-sister.

‘She’s too sweet to be a doctor,’ Gail said, shaking her head. ‘In my day, they were all old men, not pretty girls.’

Harry grinned at his colleague. ‘Times have changed, Gail. Now, I have to fill out your forms to make sure the Trust pays for all your food, can you let me know what your last name is, please?’

‘Oh, everyone just calls me Gail, dear. It’s what I prefer.’

‘Melly told me that on the phone,’ Harry agreed. ‘But the Trust won’t hand over the cash without your surname.’

‘Of course. Bureaucracy, I know how it is. It’s Atkinson, dear, Gail Atkinson. I used to live around here, you know, I remember that library girl when she was at school.’

‘Terrific! Would you like some late lunch after your check-up?’

‘Thank you, dear, that would be lovely. Something hot, and a nice pot of tea.’

‘Anything you don’t like?’

‘Tripe and tongue,’ Gail said sharply. ‘Can’t stand em.’

‘Me either,’ Harry agreed. ‘Celeste? Have you had time to eat today? No? OK then, I was thinking I’d make the three of us up something nice.’

‘Yes please,’ Celeste said, waving him off. ‘Whatever you have going will be fine.’

Harry popped into his office and made a few calls to set in motion the search for Gail Atkinson’s son, then ducked beneath his desk when he caught sight of Jan Phillips before she caught sight of him. She was a formidable general manager, but she did have an appalling habit of involving him in every problem the Centre faced. 

Her argument that he was, on paper, the boss held no sway with him. The way Harry saw it, he was here to help out and pay bills, not to be essential. He’d had enough of being essential to last him a lifetime. Two, even. Money didn’t make him special, it just made him able to employ good managers and buy good coffee for the staff room. 

Her shoes clipped all the way to his door, but the resigned sigh she gave made it clear that she assumed he had hoofed it before she had run him to ground. 

Harry waited until her footsteps died away, then Apparated out, just to be on the safe side.

The beauty of the Tesco carpark was that unless you were actually breaking into a vehicle, no one gave a damn what you were doing. And even then, they were only likely to raise a protest if it was actually _their_ car. Harry had been horrified the first time he appeared less than ten feet from shoppers – he had thought the quiet bit down the back near the trees would be safe – but the couple just continued loading their shopping into their boot, and the toddler who gaped at him was too young to be able to tell anyone about it. Since then, he’d repeated the experiment on many occasions with the same results.

He jogged across the carpark today, narrowly avoiding being backed into by a Ford Mondeo. Inside, he grabbed a basket and began his usual haphazard route about the aisles, once again failing to remember where anything was.

He’d found the nice bread that Celeste liked, grabbed three containers of the good pre-prepped soup that really did taste as though a house-elf had made it and was just about to pick up some double cream to go with the treacle tart he planned to pick up at the cake shop on the walk back when he stopped dead. 

‘Digestives. Who names a biscuit after a bodily process? It’s revolting.’

Harry shook his head. For all the world that sounded like …

‘You say that every time, darling, but you do like the chocolate ones.’

Harry carefully put his cream into his basket before he just-as carefully crept over to the next aisle and peeked slowly around the corner. Three fair-haired people were standing there. Which didn’t mean anything. There were loads of people with blond hair in London, and statistically, quite a few of them would sound like …

‘Narcissa, I may like them, but that doesn’t mean I need to approve of them.’

For a second, Harry wondered if this was the moment he finally lost it. Hermione had warned him that people had strange reactions to stress, which was her explanation for his determination to bury himself in the Muggle world for the last twenty-two months. But just as he opened his eyes again after screwing them shut, the rearmost figure of the trio turned around and Harry found himself staring at a gaping Draco Malfoy.

So, clearly, the world had gone mad. That was no reason why lunch should be delayed any further, it was already gone three. Harry spun on his heel and marched off to pay for his groceries.

He had made it most of the way down Aisle Three when he heard a fiercely whispered ‘Potter!’ behind him.

A sensible man would have kept going, Harry told himself as he turned around. 

White-faced, Malfoy reached out and poked Harry’s arm. ‘Oh, Merlin’s pants, I was hoping I was hallucinating.’

‘What are you doing here?’ Harry asked, unable to think of anything less banal.

‘What am _I_ doing here? What are _you_ doing here?’

‘I work nearby.’

‘You what?’

‘Draco?’ Narcissa Malfoy’s clear tones could be heard above the bustle of afternoon shoppers and radio, and through at least two aisles-worth of shelving.

‘Shit. Right, you have to go. Don’t let them see you. And whatever you do, do not tell people you saw me here!’

‘But …’

‘If you have to be a prick, at least tell them we were at Waitrose. Sainsbury’s at a pinch.’

‘But what are you …’

‘Go!’

Malfoy shoved him without malice in the direction of the ’10 items or less’ sign, and Harry took his place in the queue behind a woman complaining to her husband that the lack of grammar in public signage was a symbol of the decay of Civilisation as we knew it. Harry found himself agreeing, and was halfway back to the Centre with a treacle tart and his bag of groceries before the reality of the last quarter hour hit home. 

‘Fuck me …’ he muttered. 

There was a laugh from his left. He looked up to see Skater Yoof standing nearby. 

‘That is _so_ not gonna happen,’ the boy said, shaking his head. 

‘Hilarious,’ Harry replied.

‘Now that, that _is_ true.’ And with that he jumped onto his board and sailed off across the concrete.

Harry watched him go, wondering if he should get a message to Ron and Hermione. But what was the point? It was unlikely he would see the Malfoys again. They were part of the Wizarding world, even if they were, for reasons doubtless obscure and inexplicable, slumming it in pursuit of biscuits. 

He was not.

 

++++++++++++++

 

Draco Malfoy was waiting outside the Centre when Harry arrived at work the following morning. 

‘How did you find me?’ Harry called out as he walked towards him. 

‘It wasn’t hard.’ Draco pointed upwards to a sign that read _Godric’s Hollow Centre_.

‘Oh. Right.’ Harry stopped a few feet away, and frankly stared. Malfoy himself had changed little in the nearly two years since they had last crossed paths. He had gained a little weight, his face had lost the hungry and drawn expression it had worn at the Battle of Hogwarts, and perhaps there was a little more colour and muscle to him. 

It was his clothes that were the most remarkable thing about him – a bizarre combination of Muggle and Wizarding. Harry recognised Quidditch trousers and boots, with leather strapping extending to his knees, but these were topped by a T-shirt featuring a spray-painted rat underneath a short coat. Harry had a horrible feeling that Malfoy might be considered cool by people who cared about these things. 

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, then frowned a little at his own rudeness.

Malfoy’s lips tightened, but he made an effort to keep his expression neutral. ‘I came to see whether or not you were going to tell people you’d seen us.’

‘What does it matter?’

‘Oh for f–’ Malfoy made a visible effort to control himself. He took a breath. ‘I am concerned for my family’s safety,’ he said formally, ‘and would like to know whether or not you may have compromised it.’

‘Of course I haven’t,’ Harry said. Then, because Malfoy had been trying, added, ‘I haven’t told anyone, and I won’t tell anyone. Though I can’t see what you’re worried about, everyone knows that you and your mother helped me survive Voldemort, and there’s an unspoken agreement to give your father a pass thanks to the two of you.’

Malfoy blinked at him. ‘Why on Earth would you think we were worried about your side?’ he asked.

‘Oh.’

‘Yes. Quite.’ Malfoy gave a small, slightly bitter smile. 

Harry rallied. ‘Well, no one will hear about you slumming it in a Muggle shop from me. Though what you were doing there, I’ll never know.’

‘We were buying food,’ said Malfoy, speaking slowly, as though to a small child.

‘You were _what_? And why?’

‘To eat, Potter. And because stealing is wrong.’

‘But you live in Wiltshire,’ Harry said, feeling stupid even as he spoke the words. 

Malfoy shook his head. ‘You _are_ out of the loop.’

‘But this is Muggle London.’

‘Yeah, I know. So what in Merlin’s name are you doing here?’

Harry looked over his shoulder at the Centre, then back to Malfoy. He wanted to say that he was doing important things and making vital changes to the lives of people often lost between the cracks of government services, but what came out of his mouth was: ‘Hiding.’

‘Me too,’ said Malfoy. ‘After all these years, we finally have something in common.’

Harry smiled a little at that. Malfoy rolled his eyes.

‘Anyway,’ Malfoy said, in tones that indicated he was keen to bring the conversation to a close. ‘Thank you for your silence. I’ll try to make sure that we stay out of your way.’

‘You mean you’re local?’

‘Potter, who travels to Brixton to shop?’ Shaking his head, Malfoy turned and began to walk towards Brixton Road. 

‘Lots of people,’ Harry muttered, then went into work.

He called it work, but Harry suspected that it was just what he did to stop himself being lost between the cracks. Though he was good out on the streets, offering shelter to those who might need it. If things went pear-shaped, he had a wand in his pocket, which had been handy on more than a few occasions. And people generally liked him. He was pleasant looking and young. Old ladies thought he was a nice boy, young men thought he was one of them, middle-aged people thought he was a social-work student. 

Hardly anyone outside the Lambeth Town Planning Advice Centre knew that he was the Chairman, even half the employees thought he was the work-experience boy. Jan was the public face of Centre Management, and Celeste, Rob and a team of trained professionals did most of the actual work. Harry filled in the gaps where he could, but – money aside – he wasn’t important, despite Jan’s insistence he be kept ‘in the loop’.

That made him happy. 

This morning, the Front Building’s main common room was filled with families, kids being strapped into jackets and backpacks, ready for the weekly centre outing – the Museum today. Some of them were residents, others from their childcare facility, and a few were friendly locals who had become official Friends of the Centre and received invitations in return for cake stalls and letters to the council supporting programmes.

Harry waved at a few smiling parents and kept going. In the large common room, the oldies were setting up for Wednesday Waltzes. Jan was in there helping to move the tables and Harry quickly backtracked, spotted only by Bill Knight, a permanent resident who winked and said nothing as Harry slipped silently away. 

Harry continued on through the Centre, past the clinics and craft rooms, out the back door and through the large garden, then through the security fence and another garden and into the Back Building where the other half of the Centre’s work was done. 

When he found her in the main clinic there, Celeste was just dispensing the last of the morning methadone from the pharmacy. Bek Woods – four weeks so far in the residential programme – smiled apologetically at Harry as she took her cup. 

‘Nearly kicked it,’ Bek said, then downed her medicine in one gulp before scooping up the remains with her finger and licking it clean. 

‘It’s all good,’ Celeste reassured her. ‘You’re looking heaps better than when you came in, Bek. Got a bit of colour back.’

‘Have to look my best, lot of handsome boys around here,’ Bek replied, winking shamelessly at Harry.

Harry grinned. ‘You’re out of my league, I’m afraid,’ he said, gallantly.

‘What’s a few decades between friends?’ she asked, before taking herself off to her comfy chair for the next hour to do puzzles as she did every morning.

Celeste smiled brightly. ‘You’re early.’

‘You mean here before lunch?’

‘We value whatever time you can give us, Harry,’ she said, with a wink. ‘I tell myself that you’re off managing your complicated investments on the days when you don’t turn up before lunch. Or at least, that’s what I tell anyone who asks.’

‘You’re not far wrong,’ Harry admitted. ‘I’m usually wandering about trying to think up ways we could do more here. This place counts as an investment, even if the returns are atrocious.’

It didn’t really matter to him that the money went in one direction only. After the war, the remainder of Sirius’s money had been added to Harry’s Gringotts account. Apparently the Blacks had never formally disowned their eldest son, nor spent much on anything after Regulus died. The sum was beyond tidy, and it had filled an already well-stocked vault. 

Harry had been at a loss for what to do with it, and himself, so when Hermione suggested charity work – thinking he could be useful at St Mungo’s – he had demanded she sit down and help him decide on a good Muggle charity. 

She hadn’t argued. She and Ron had thought he was going through a phase, and just needed to be supported until he was ready to return to the wizarding world. Instead, she’d turned up with armfuls of brochures and put aside two nights for him.

After he’d dismissed dozens for being too narrow in their focus, and was on the verge of trekking to Tanzania to pay for wells, she’d remembered that Justin Finch-Fletchley had spoken about his mum’s frequent fundraisers. 

Justin had been happy to arrange a meeting – happier still to hear from Harry – and Mrs Emma Finch-Fletchley had insisted Harry meet her sister-in-law Beza Fletchley, who had apparently been Naomi Campbell before Naomi Campbell – ‘Though unghastly, of course. Actually interested in politics rather than just associating with politicians. Brilliant woman, really. I just organise a few donations, she’s genuinely involved.’ 

Beza had offered Harry a world of options, from land-mine control in Chad to school tutoring programs for girls in Afghanistan. But she had also mentioned one closer to home and to her heart. Her daughter Celeste had a struggling clinic in half a Brixton terrace, but she wanted to add a rehab centre, and then a baby clinic nearby. ‘You know, the sort that actually has doctors and can help with sick or under-nourished kids when it’s early enough to make a difference.’ 

Harry had met Celeste that evening, they set up the Trust two days later. Their first step was to buy the rest of the terrace and push the rehab centre through planning, which they managed in record time with enormous public support. Now the Centre had grown to consume most of the buildings around it, with Celeste’s expertise and his gold backing it. 

Once a month he would slip under his Invisibility Cloak and make the trip to Gringotts to authorise a deposit into his Muggle accounts. The goblins were never very happy to see him there – understandably – but they refused simple modern inventions like direct deposits and authorised regular payments. Instead he just pretended not to hear the murmured accusations of dragon theft and vault-breaking, and left as quickly as possible.

Celeste had been the main power behind the works, commissioning the changes and forcing the building works through in a fraction of a time they would normally have taken. The local council were highly sympathetic – ‘It’s because of my looks,’ she had told Harry. ‘They’d never let you get away with it, but I tick enough New Labour Priority boxes. Which is hilarious when you consider that I grew up with private everything and you grew up in a cupboard under the stairs.’

But she had made him feel valued, and as though he was a genuine ally, and that was all he had wanted, really. Best of all, she treated him as a friend, and she didn’t ask questions.

‘Well, you can chalk up another good result for your books,’ she told him. ‘Gail’s gone home. Her son arrived just after you and Melly left last night. He’d been looking everywhere. The Met were able to get onto him nice and quickly. Turns out she missed her pills the other night, and was then too confused to remember to take them in the morning. He’d popped out for a meeting, and by the time he got home, she’d packed up and left. They’ve got some good nursing services over their way, I’ve put him onto one. He wants to keep her at home, says she usually likes it there. She was very happy to see him.’

‘That’s great news.’

‘Yeah.’ Celeste cleaned up the last of her dispensing gear and locked the bottles back into the safe storage. ‘I liked the flowers you gave her, nice touch.’ 

She winked at him. She and Justin were close, and she knew Harry’s secrets. 

‘It never hurts to give the oldies a smile. You’re through earlier than usual.’

Celeste nodded. ‘Wayne and Cherie are off the stuff. Been clean for three days now. They’ve been voluntarily providing urine samples, I think they’re afraid I’m going to boot them out if they can’t prove they’re straight. Wayne’s even looking for a job, says that if we can just keep them on until he can afford a few weeks’ rent, things should be fine.’

‘That’s brilliant!’ Harry grinned. Wayne and Cherie had been two of the Centre’s first residents, and he had assumed they would be around for years.

‘You see that, pretty often, really. People just grow out of using. You just have to keep them alive long enough. That’s why it’s so vital to have …’

‘Good public health,’ Harry finished the sentence for her. ‘I know, you convinced me ages ago. Still, must feel good to see a success story.’

Celeste smiled wryly. ‘I’ll give it a month before I get really excited, but yeah, it’s always nice. I think they were inspired by Emma and Neil. It’s been a good month for our little junkies. I’ll have to tell the psych mob they’re all doing wonders. That’ll go straight to their heads.’

Harry looked at her and shook his head sternly. 

‘Not even half a laugh?’ she pleaded.

‘Far too terrible.’

‘Fair enough.’

A loud burst of genuine laughter rang out from the television room. 

‘I bet that’s that robbery,’ Celeste said, smiling. ‘Have you seen it yet?’

‘I don’t have a telly.’

‘Go and have a look, it’s hysterical. They’ve been playing it all morning.’

Harry trotted over to the doorway and poked his head in. He was just in time to see a replay of grainy patched-together CCTV footage, showing a security van being followed by a motorbike with blacked-out plates. The van bounced on a speed bump and its rear doors sprang open, catapulting one of the guards out and into the arms of the motorcyclist who had stopped just in time. The van continued on, with the other rear guard poking his head out to see what had happened to the first, just as the van itself went over a second bump and he suffered the same fate. 

The motorcyclist, having dropped the first guard gently to the ground, was in place to catch the second – who was similarly deposited – and then the two large bags of cash that bounced out immediately after him. Clutching them to his chest he rode off at speed before either of the stunned guards outside the van could recover enough to do anything.

It was so absurd that Harry joined in the general laughter. 

‘Handed to him!’ one of the younger residents shouted gleefully as a representative of the Met appeared on the screen, declaring that any information supplied by members of the public would be treated in strictest confidence. 

‘That is the luckiest man in London,’ Bek declared.

‘Nah, that’s the guards. They’d have been splattered if he hadn’t been there.’ That was one of the temporarily unhomed boys – Harry could never keep their names straight.

‘But he was clearly on his way to a blag,’ said the boy’s mate. ‘He had his plates done and everything.’

‘Then this one fell in his lap instead,’ said the first lad, to general hilarity.

Harry slipped away. Jan would doubtless be looking for him in the Front Building, so he stayed in this one and went to the kitchen to help with lunch instead. 

A voice sang out as he pushed his way through the swing doors. ‘Harry, love! You brighten my morning!’ 

Mrs Gillray was always pleased to see him. The residents in the Back Building were meant to help out in her kitchen, but most were busy with training courses, or too concerned with their own problems. Of the remainder, there were several who were not encouraged to use a knife. 

‘Morning Mrs G. Thought you could use some company.’ Harry set himself down with a pile of carrots and a peeler.

‘You’re a good lad. Though what I could really use is a coffee, Mr G snored like a bastard all through the night.’

Harry grinned. ‘I can manage by myself for a bit if you want to go and grab one.’ He pulled a fiver from his pocket. ‘My treat, grab me one, too – latte with one.’

Mrs Gillray grinned and promised to be right back. Although the cafe was in the Front Building, Harry knew that she would be at least three-quarters of an hour, as her sister ran the kitchen there. He waited until she had left, then cast a quick spell to keep the doors shut, before managing two more to deal with the vast piles of vegetables set about the table. Satisfied, he pulled a book from his pocket and began to read. 

 

++++++++++++++

 

A couple of days later, Harry was inclined to recross the road when he saw Skater Yoof ahead, rather than risk further mocking. He was just after the papers, not an interaction with local personalities. But the boy spotted Harry with obvious relief and came running up to him. ‘You’ve gotta help them,’ he gasped out, pointing down the nearby narrow lane.

Sounds of a fight came from within. Harry eyed Skater Lad dubiously, but decided that the level of acting required to look that genuinely distressed was beyond him. Shoving his hand into his coat’s wand pocket, he ran into the fray.

There were five assailants. Young men, older than Skater Yoof and much burlier. Off to one side, with a nose streaming blood, was a young kid who often hung around with Skater Yoof outside the library. On the ground was one of the older men who lived rough locally, and standing in front of him, with a piece of paling held like a club, was Draco Malfoy. 

They were all so focussed on each other that Harry was able to Stun the two rear-most attackers before anyone even heard him. Malfoy moved then, swinging his bit of fence into the nearest body with vigour. The man staggered to one side, and only avoided falling by clutching at the far wall.

No one else was armed, Harry was pleased to see, only kicker boots and menacing attitudes. He tensed for another pass, but Skater Yoof was suddenly there beside him, yelling angrily at the men. The two remaining thugs realised they were outnumbered now and took to their heels, grabbing the one Malfoy had clobbered as they went and dragging him away.

Skater Yoof jumped over the bodies that remained to get to the younger boy. ‘Are you OK, Phil?’ he asked, all solicitude. 

‘He hit me in the nose!’ the younger boy declared. 

‘Yeah, I can see. Here you go,’ Skater Yoof handed over a pack of tissues from his pocket. ‘Put your head forward and pinch the top, that’ll stop it. Mum’s gonna freak when she sees you.’

‘Not your fault,’ the younger boy replied, his voice muffled by a hand full of Kleenex.

Harry took a breath, and turned to Malfoy.

Who was ignoring him, and helping the old man to sit up. 

Now that Harry looked closely, he could see bruises starting to colour on the old man’s face and bare forearms. One of his eyes was swelling shut, and there was a streak of blood welling across his forehead. Malfoy was pulling a series of bottles from his bag and encouraging the man to drink from one of them, while tipping the contents of another onto a handkerchief before dabbing at the cut and bruises he could see.

‘You’re a good boy, Draco,’ the old man said.

‘They were well out of order,’ Malfoy replied, grimly. ‘Derrick, are you and Phil all right?’

‘Fine,’ Skater Yoof – Derrick, presumably – replied. ‘Phil got a whack to the nose, but it doesn’t look broken.’

‘Sfine’, Phil agreed.

‘Good news. Thanks for helping me out there.’

‘Not a prob, I could only find that boy from the Centre, but he was OK. He knocked those two down faster than I could even see.’

Malfoy looked up at that, taking in Harry with slight amusement. ‘Yes, he was indeed OK.’

Harry stood there, breathing heavily, with no-one left to fight and without anyone to tend. He was disinclined to offer assistance to the two unconscious thugs that still lay before him. Though he supposed he would have to do something with them. 

‘Should I get the police?’ he asked, addressing the question generally.

‘No filth!’ the old man said definitely. 

Derrick and Phil grunted their agreement, and Malfoy shrugged. ‘Do you want to spend the rest of the day having your testimony taken in detail?’

Harry looked at the old man, who was shaking his head so vigorously it looked as though he might do himself a further damage. ‘No. All right, then, I won’t get the police. But what are we going to do with these two?’

Phil stood up carefully and came over to look down at the two bodies. He knelt and took out their wallets, removed the cash from each, and then popped the wallets back in the pockets they had come from. He divided the money carefully into two, and gave half to the old man before splitting the remainder and pocketing one lot while handing the other to Skater Yoof. ‘Compensation,’ he said to Harry’s startled look.

Malfoy returned his bottles to his bag and left the old man holding the hanky to his brow in proper blood-staunching fashion. Without looking at Harry, he checked both of the prone figures carefully. ‘They’ll be fine in twenty minutes or so,’ he announced. He picked up the heels of the closest one and looked at Harry expectantly.

It took Harry a moment to twig, but then he lifted the man up by his shoulders and helped Malfoy carry him further down the lane. They dropped him behind a mini-skip, where he would be hidden from view for anyone looking in from the street, then repeated the action for his colleague.

Derrick was waiting for Harry when he returned. He stuck a hand out. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

Harry took the hand and gave it a quick shake. ‘All good,’ he replied.

Derrick nodded and turned back to his brother. ‘Come on, better get you home. If we’re lucky, Mum will still be at bingo.’ He turned to Malfoy. ‘Cheers, D-Man.’

‘Catch you,’ Malfoy replied.

He waited until the two boys had left before turning to Harry. ‘So. I’m not doing as well at avoiding you as I had planned …’

Harry smiled involuntarily. ‘It’s like being back at school. Wherever something is going badly wrong, there we are.’

‘There we are,’ Malfoy echoed. They looked at each other bleakly for a moment, before the old man started to cough and complain.

Malfoy walked back over and squatted beside him. ‘Mr McAuley, this is Harry Potter. He has a Centre nearby where there are some very good doctors, I’m told. I think it would be a good idea if we took you there. You could spend the night if you liked, or maybe even stay longer.’

‘No religious and no do-gooders!’ the old man grunted.

Harry could see Malfoy holding in a grin. ‘Potter is not religious and although he is nauseatingly righteous, I don’t think you could fairly describe him as a do-gooder, either. Cashed-up layabout with a guilty conscience would be more accurate.’

Harry could tell that Malfoy was enjoying himself, but it seemed to work. Mr McAuley nodded, and let Malfoy help him to his feet. 

‘The van’s at the Centre today, would you like me to call for it?’ Harry offered. ‘Save you the walk.’

Mr McAuley looked as though he was about to refuse, then nodded. ‘Can you bring my trolley?’ he asked, pointing at his wheeled contraption with boxes and bedding strapped to it.

‘Of course.’ 

‘Good. I’m going to sit here and wait, then.’ He lowered himself down to a handy milk crate, took down the topmost bag from his trolley and began to rummage inside it.

Harry pulled his phone from his pocket and punched in the centre’s number. It picked up on the second ring, and he gave directions to their location. ‘They’ll be five to ten minutes,’ he said as he hung up.

‘You’ve gone native,’ Malfoy said, pointing to the small device. 

‘Have to, it’s the only way you can keep in touch with most of the people I work with. And you can’t talk. How do you even know these people?’

‘Draco’s my herbalist,’ Mr McAuley said, proudly. ‘And he’s very good.’

‘Herbalist?’

Malfoy shrugged. ‘Some valerian to help people sleep, St John’s Wort and chamomile for anxiety, basic things for basic needs.’

‘ _Herbalist_?’

‘We have to make a living somehow, Potter. It was this or allow my mother to tell fortunes in the market, and you can imagine how that would have ended.’

Harry had a sudden clear vision of Narcissa Malfoy at a silk-covered table in Covent Garden telling willing punters they were doomed to a mundane existence in which they would miss out on every opportunity through their own obtuseness. 

‘Good choice,’ he was forced to admit. ‘But how do you know Skater Yoof?’

‘Who?’

Harry searched for the name … ‘Derrick.’

Malfoy looked at him with an eyebrow raised. ‘Skater Yoof. Really? How long have you been a valuable part of the local community, Potter?’

‘The only time I have anything to do with him is when I’m retrieving bags he’s nicked.’

‘Derrick and his brother Phil live in a small flat with their three younger siblings and single parent mother, who was laid off from work four months ago and has been getting by on benefits and what she can win at bingo, usually the meat tray. His petty larceny is the only way for an unskilled youth to contribute to the family.’

‘Or he could get a job,’ Harry said, disturbingly aware that he sounded a bit like Uncle Vernon.

‘He’s still at school,’ Draco said. 

‘He’s always down here with his board.’

‘He’s theoretically still at school.’

Harry shook his head. ‘I cannot believe you know these people.’

‘Phil likes to come and have a chat with Mr McAuley. They both like dogs. Mr McAuley lets Phil take his for a walk sometimes.’

Harry looked around. ‘What dog?’

Mr McAuley opened up the top of his bag so that Harry could see the dog within. It was the smallest chihuahua he had ever seen, wearing a little vest of red and blue and shaking nervously.

‘This is Blossom. Those lads nearly scared her to death,’ Mr McAuley said gently, but defiantly.

Harry nodded his head. Here at least was something he understood. ‘We have a pet-friendly policy at the Centre,’ he said. ‘She can stay with us, and I can call a vet in to look her over if you’d like. It won’t cost anything.’

Mr McAuley couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘You’ll still let me come? With my little dog?’

‘Yeah, of course. You can’t ask people to choose between their dog and a bed. That’s inhuman.’

Mr McAuley pressed his lips together and nodded shortly. Clearly he had been asked to make that choice on any number of occasions. 

Harry turned back to Malfoy, pretending he did not see the emotion on the old man’s face. ‘You did a good job here,’ he admitted.

‘No need to sound so surprised.’

‘I’m pretty sure that you helping Muggles _is_ surprising, Malfoy.’ 

‘I’m just rendering assistance to a client. It’s a professional courtesy.’

The van arrived then, before Harry could press the matter. Rob, the Centre’s junior doctor, had come with the driver and was quickly out and tending to Mr McAuley. 

‘Did you give him anything?’ he asked them both, seeing that McAuley’s wounds had been cleaned up. 

Malfoy sat with him for a moment, giving details. Rob nodded his approval, and patted him on the shoulder before returning to his patient.

Dismissed, Malfoy stood up and looked around. He stood close to Harry and whispered, ‘You should probably get everyone out of here fairly soon, before the two you Stunned wake up.’

‘Good idea,’ Harry agreed. Then, because he thought he ought to, he added, ‘You really did do well. That was brave, fighting off those thugs by yourself.’

Malfoy frowned at him, but when Harry kept his face perfectly straight, he nodded, accepting the compliment. ‘It seemed appropriate,’ he said, with a tone less formal than his words. ‘You’re all sorted here, I’d better go before I’m missed. I’ll leave you with Potter, Mr McAuley, you can trust him.’

‘Cheers, Draco, you’re a good boy.’

Malfoy smiled, though he dropped the expression as he turned back to Harry. ‘I’ll try and come by your Centre tomorrow, to check that he’s all right.’

‘OK. We’re open to visitors after ten. I’ll make sure he’s well taken care of.’

‘Thank you.’ Malfoy turned to leave, then paused for a moment. ‘That was good of you. About the pets. Decent.’

Harry was so startled, by the time he found words to speak, Malfoy had gone.

 

++++++++++++++

 

It took longer to settle Mr McAuley in than Harry had anticipated, mostly because Jan spotted him carrying the trolley through the front door and snaffled him for the purposes of form signing. By the time he managed to escape, he had had to Apparate home, and even then he had only just enough time to wash and change before Ron and Hermione arrived. 

Kreacher had organised dinner, cooking all of Hermione’s favourites. Though he still referred to her as Master’s Muggleborn Friend, Harry was beginning to suspect it had taken on the tone of an affectionate nickname.

She and Ron had bought a bottle of wine, it was handed over with hugs all round. 

‘I thought you were getting a haircut,’ Hermione teased Harry. 

He brushed the offending tangle back from his face. ‘I keep meaning to, but things happen and I run out of time.’

‘No, it looks good, mate,’ Ron said supportively. ‘Few more months and it’ll be just like Romilda Vane.’

Harry poked out his tongue. 

He turned pointedly to Hermione. ‘Thanks for coming. I know you have a lot of revising to do for exams.’ 

Hermione exchanged a quick embarrassed look with Ron. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Though I’ve been trying not to be too obsessive. It turns out I’m pretty well across everything, so there’s time for a bit of a life.’

‘That’s great!’ Harry grinned as he led them into the dining room. ‘What about you, Ron? Still enjoying work?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, work’s great. Probably going to stick with it for a bit longer, wait till George is on his feet properly, then I’ll go and work in the Ministry with Hermione.’

‘Sounds great. Something to drink?’

‘May as well wait for dinner,’ Hermione said. ‘Hello, Kreacher! That smells delicious!’

Harry turned in time to see Kreacher make a stiff nod in Hermione’s direction. ‘Is Master ready to dine?’ Kreacher asked him, 

Ron and Hermione both nodded, so Harry agreed that he was and led them through. He was happy to see them, but aware that they would have The Conversation soon, and wishing that just once they could avoid it. 

Ron opened the wine poured three glasses – none of them had ever let a wine breathe when there was the option to drink it. Then he shot Harry an appraising glance. ‘Still Muggling?’ he asked.

‘Still Muggling,’ Harry agreed.

The tension left the room at that. Harry did not suppose that he would ever be able to make the two of them fully understand his reasons, but they accepted his actions. And he hadn’t been alone in bunking off …

‘Ginny and Dean send their love,’ Hermione said. ‘They’re up in Donegal. They say they saw Neville and Luna last week.’

Harry laughed. ‘Has she played Quidditch in every stadium in Ireland yet?’

‘Two left when she wrote,’ said Ron. ‘Then they’re off to Portugal to start there.’

‘It is a fine and worthy mission,’ Harry agreed.

‘Mum keeps yelling at her to finish school, but I’ve been telling Mum what you told me about Gap Years, so she’s coping.’

Harry had failed to convey the fact that Gap Years usually happened _after_ school, but given the last few years, he didn’t think it worth pressing the point.

‘Mum says that she wants to come by more often, says it’s ridiculous that she and dad see you less often than they do Charlie, and he’s in Romania. Can you find a day or two soon?’

‘Yeah, of course,’ Harry promised. 

‘What about you?’ Hermione asked. ‘What’s been happening at the Centre?’

Kreacher appeared at that moment with a tureen of soup, so Harry’s carefully edited stories of the last few days were conducted around serving and slurping. 

‘How many people are you housing now?’ Hermione asked.

Harry did a quick mental count. ‘Over fifty, but I’m not exactly sure. We do more work with the training and food programmes, really. But it feels good to make a difference. Jan wants to roll out an anti-school-bullying project in September, I have to say, I’m quite keen on that one.’

Ron grinned, and Hermione reached across the table to squeeze Harry’s hand. Harry had told them stories of his accidental childhood magic use escaping Dudley and his goons before he came to Hogwarts. For Ron they were stories of normal childhood adventure, having grown up with five older brothers, two of whom used him as a guinea pig. For Hermione, they were outrages. Harry found his own opinion somewhere between the two, but knew that he would have been far more in line with Hermione’s thinking had there been no magic involved.

‘That’s good,’ Ron said. ‘You’re really getting stuff done.’

‘Yeah,’ Harry agreed, glad they had stopped suggesting that his work might be able to take care of itself now. Unlike last year, there had been no mention of the memorials coming up in May, though he supposed there was still some time to go.

‘Do you two need to go home tonight?’ Harry asked over the roast lamb that followed the soup. ‘I thought we might go shopping tomorrow, or just hang about in town.’

‘Oh, we’d planned to stay,’ Hermione said brightly. ‘I need new shoes.’

‘Great! I had Kreacher make up a couple of rooms, just in case.’

‘We don’t need …’ Ron started to say, but was interrupted by Hermione, who spoke more loudly and quickly than was usual for her.

‘Excellent. This really is marvellous lamb, Harry. Kreacher’s outdone himself. Oh, did you hear about Seamus Finnigan?’

 

++++++++++++++

 

They stayed up far too late, and so it was past ten before Harry came stumbling downstairs. Kreacher had laid the table ready for breakfast, but wisely left off even boiling the kettle before he saw signs of life from upstairs.

‘Master’s friends enjoyed themselves last night,’ he observed.

‘We all did, Kreacher. Thanks for such an excellent meal.’

The house-elf waved his hand modestly. ‘It was nothing special. Kreacher enjoys cooking proper meals rather than beans on toast.’

‘Sorry. It just seems silly making a fuss for one person. Should I go and wake the others up?’

‘Kreacher will see to that, Master.’ He handed Harry a cup of tea. ‘Drink this, Kreacher will return with Master’s friends and everyone will eat together.’

Good to his word, Kreacher returned with Ron and Hermione a few minutes later. Hermione was energetic and cheerful, Ron smiley and sleepy. Breakfast saw their conversations pick up right where they had left off the night before, and in the hour it took them to get ready to leave the house, Harry felt as though nothing had changed. 

Until Ron stopped at the door and asked, ‘So, how are we getting there?’

Harry paused. He hadn’t stopped Apparating – far from it, given how late he often found himself running, but at the same time, he usually tried to at least start the day without magic …

‘Don’t be silly, Ron, we’re taking the Tube,’ Hermione said. ‘I’ve got change for our Travelcards. Harry, can we get off at Leicester Square? There’s a bookshop …’

She swept them out the door, and they found themselves travelling in her wake for the next few hours. There were in fact several bookshops, and just as many shoe shops. Ron found himself the happy owner of a completely unadorned jumper, and even Harry bought a new jacket, his friends having agreed that his old one was less ‘cool student’ and more ‘found on street’. 

Hermione restricted herself to one bag of books and two pairs of shoes, and Ron was laughingly trying to convince her that she did require a pair of long black boots when Harry’s phone rang.

It was Celeste, and Mr McAuley was demanding that Harry come and see him right now. Harry asked to speak with him on the phone, but McAuley would have none of it. He looked up, from their faces, it was clear that Ron and Hermione were following the conversation. They both nodded approval, and Harry told Celeste he would be there within the quarter hour.

He was about to apologise as he hung up, but Hermione started laughing instead. 

‘All right, we’re definitely Apparating this time,’ she said.

Harry was grateful. ‘Still time for you to try on those boots. Or I could leave you here with Ron, I think they’re more for him, anyway.’

‘He’d never fit into them,’ she teased. 

‘A boy can dream,’ Ron sighed, a sentence behind. His brain caught up just as they began laughing. ‘Oh, very funny. It’s fine, I’m perfectly happy with my dreams. Anyway, should we get moving? Or do we have time for a last hot chocolate?’

They compromised, and bought takeaways. 

Celeste had met Ron and Hermione before, so quick hellos served in place of introductions. Harry left the three of them in the cafe and took himself off to Mr McAuley’s room.

To suit Blossom, the room faced onto the garden. This part of the Centre had been student accommodation before Harry had bought it, and they had kept the tiny kitchenettes in most of the rooms. Mr McAuley was sitting in his, peering out the window as Harry came up to the door. He opened it before Harry could even knock. 

‘Come in, come in!’ he said. ‘There’s a seat left.’

Harry came in. Bill Knight was already there, having a cup of tea. 

‘Hello, Harry,’ Bill greeted him. ‘Cuppa?’

Harry lifted his paper cup of chocolate in reply, but took a seat at the table. ‘Good to see you looking better, Mr McAuley,’ he said. Malfoy had done a good job, the bruises were already fading, and the cut was healing far faster than would be expected on someone of Mr McAuley’s vintage. ‘I’m glad Mr Knight’s been able to help you out.’

‘Bill and I go way back,’ Mr McAuley said. ‘Our boys were at school together.’

‘That’s right,’ Mr Knight agreed. ‘Known you over thirty years, haven’t I, Frank?’

‘Close to forty, I’d say.’

Harry nodded politely, and became aware that Blossom was chewing absently on his shoe laces. 

‘She must like you,’ Mr McAuley said, noticing at the same time. ‘Pick her up and give her a pat, if you like. She won’t bite.’

Harry was more concerned that he might accidentally hurt the tiny animal, but Blossom responded to being lifted up by squirming onto her back and presenting her belly for rubbing, which duty Harry duly met, and was rewarded with an enthusiastic licking of his chin.

‘You wanted to see me,’ he reminded Mr McAuley, trying hard to retain some semblance of dignity.

‘Yes, I need you to find your friend for me.’

Harry looked up in surprise. ‘Which friend?’

‘Draco. He said he was coming to see me today, but he’s not here yet, and I’m out of my sleeping medicine. He was going to give me more yesterday, but then everything else happened. Used the last of it up last night.’

‘Draco Malfoy?’ Harry replayed as much as he could recall of yesterday in his head. He supposed it would make sense to believe they were friends, if one had had a knock to the head early on in the proceedings.

‘How many Dracos do you know, boy? He makes me a herbal thing, says it’s all natural. It tastes a damn sight better than anything the doctors have ever given me, and it does the trick, too. And I don’t feel groggy afterwards, or if I have to wake up in the night. I need my wits about me, you see.’

‘Can’t you just get in touch with him the way you normally do?’

Mr McAuley shook his head. ‘He comes to find me. I’ve never had a number for him. No phone, either.’

‘Right.’ Harry concentrated on Blossom for a moment while he thought. He wanted to give Malfoy the benefit of the doubt, but … ‘OK, I’ll go and find where Draco is, but do you have the bottle left from your last batch?’

‘Course I do, he recycles.’

‘Could I have a look?’

Mr McAuley excused himself for a moment and went into the bedroom. His mutterings as he looked for the bottle among his possessions were easily heard – the wall was more of a partition than any serious attempt at soundproofing – as was his satisfied exclamation when he found it.

‘Good quality glass, that,’ he declared, handing it over to Harry and taking Blossom in return.

‘Nice looking bottle,’ Mr Knight agreed.

Harry uncorked it and took a tentative sniff. The odour was similar to Dreamless Sleep, though the blue glass bottle gave no clue as to the colour of the potion it had contained. But there was a definite edge of magic to the fragrance, something soothing and comforting beyond the simple powers of scent. _Herbalist my arse,_ Harry thought, though he couldn’t say whether he was angry or just disappointed.

‘How long have you been taking this?’ he asked.

‘A bit over a month,’ Mr McAuley replied. ‘First time I’ve been able to sleep properly in years. You go and find him and tell him I need more, today if he can, I’m not looking forward to tonight.’

‘I can give you a pill if you need it,’ Bill Knight offered. ‘They’re over-the-counter, so you needn’t give me a look like that, Harry.’

‘What?’ Harry was startled. ‘Oh, no, sorry, Mr Knight, I was just thinking.’

‘So you’ll go and get him?’ Mr McAuley asked.

‘Yeah, absolutely.’ 

Mr McAuley smiled broadly. ‘Good lad! Off you go then, sorry to bring you in on your day off.’

‘That’s all right. We’ll get you Malfoy’s phone number and you can call him yourself in future.’

Bill Knight followed Harry as he walked back inside to the cafe. ‘Will you be able to find this Draco person?’ 

‘I think so,’ Harry answered.

‘That’s good. Frank wasn’t always like this, you know. He had his own business. But his wife was killed a few years ago, he was there … he sort of fell apart after that.’

Harry nodded sympathetically. He couldn’t judge, he’d been tempted to fall apart himself after the war, and probably would have if he hadn’t found something big enough to occupy most of his thoughts.

Bill patted Harry on the arm. ‘So you go and find your young friend and his magic medicine. It’s probably all drugs he makes in his shed, but I don’t really care, do you?’

‘I’m sure it’s all harmless,’ Harry said, startled at Mr Knight’s unwitting accuracy. ‘I’m going to have to see my friends off, we were out shopping when Celeste rang …’

‘Off you go, son. I’ll see you when you get back.’

Harry walked on ahead. Celeste was explaining to Hermione how the cafe could operate at a profit with the centre cafeteria only a short walk down a hallway. 

‘If you’d tried the free coffee … Oh, Harry! Everything all right?’

Harry sat down at the table and stole a bite of Ron’s pastry. 

‘Yeah, he’s fine. But I’ve somehow promised to head off on a little job for him. Sorry.’

‘Give us a minute to finish up and we’ll help,’ Ron offered.

Harry would have loved to say yes, but he had promised Malfoy. ‘Best done alone, I’m afraid.’

‘Told you,’ Ron said, winking at Hermione.

‘Be fair, it’s only ever happened once before,’ Harry replied. Seeing their amused looks, he hastily added, ‘In this job. And I seem to remember dragging the both of you along most of the time on the last one,’ he finished with grim levity.

‘It’s fine, Harry,’ Hermione reassured him. ‘We packed everything this morning. You go off and we’ll pop back into town before we head off to the Burrow.’

‘Of course you did, you and your bags.’ Harry grinned at her. ‘But still, I feel as though I’ve hardly seen you both, and it’s been weeks.’

Hermione exchanged a quick look with Ron. ‘Actually,’ she said. ‘We were going to ask a favour. I’m going to take a study break over the weekend and Monday and Tuesday. Ron’s taking a couple of days off work. We were hoping we could stay at yours?’

‘You don’t even need to ask.’

‘Great. Well, you head off on your secret mission, we’ll finish up here with Celeste.’

‘I’ve been saying lovely things about you,’ Celeste chipped in.

‘Terrible lies,’ Ron confirmed.

Harry laughed, said his goodbyes and headed off. He knew they all worried about him, even Celeste, but none of them were wearing the forced smiles he had grown used to in his first months away from the Wizarding world. If there was some sort of test, he was passing these days.

Now all he had to do was find Malfoy and ask him what the hell he thought he was up to. At least there, he knew one likely lead.

Skater Yoo… Derrick. Derrick was outside the library, keeping a very close eye on his brother. For once, he wasn’t presenting any sort of public menace, rather, regaling his friends with the tale of how he and Phil had run off a horde of menacing thugs out hassling a poor old man. Parts of the story Harry heard were even true. 

Derrick paused briefly as he saw Harry walking towards him, but Harry’s smile encouraged him. ‘It was massive,’ he said in finishing. ‘Ask Social Worker Boy, he saw it all.’

‘Huge,’ Harry agreed. ‘That old bloke would have been in serious trouble if you two hadn’t come along.’

‘Told you,’ Derrick said. Behind his back, Phil grinned and winked at Harry.

‘Can I have a quick word?’ Harry asked. 

‘I’m not interested in a bravery award,’ Derrick replied, receiving the requisite laugh from his mates. 

‘Just trying to track down a mutual friend.’ 

‘Yeah, all right.’ 

They wandered a little away from the others. ‘So, Draco Malfoy, do you know where he lives?’

‘Why do you want to know?’

‘Mr McAuley’s after him. Needs his medicine.’

Derrick’s suspicious expression evaporated. ‘Right, yeah. OK then. I don’t know where he lives, but I’ve seen him up around The Queen on Bellefields Rd. I reckon you could try there.’

‘Cheers, mate.’ Harry shook his hand and turned to leave.

‘Hey …’ Derrick stopped him.

‘Yeah?’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Harry. Harry Potter.’

‘Right.’ Derrick put his hand out. ‘I’m Derrick Adebayo. Good to meet you properly. And, you know, thanks again.’

‘We’re cool. Good to meet you properly, too.’

Harry set off up Brixton Road. As he walked, he kept an eye out for white-blond hair, but there were only a few flag-bedecked Swedish backpackers. 

It wasn’t a long walk to the pub, nor was it the sort of pub he associated Malfoy with, rather, one that made the Hog’s Head look like the poshest of gastropubs. Harry made a mental note to mention it to some of the people at the Centre who were always complaining about encroaching gentrification. 

There was no sign of Malfoy outside, so Harry headed in. Once inside, his nostrils were assaulted by the smell of old smoke leavened with stale beer and a faint edge of piss. His first inclination was to turn and head back out, but he forced himself to walk over to the bar, looking around as he did so. 

At three on a Saturday afternoon, there were a surprising number of people there drinking. Harry recognised a few of them from the regular soup kitchens they ran at the Centre, a couple even nodded hellos to him, which he returned before moving his gaze on. And there in the corner stood Draco Malfoy, leaning down and talking urgently to someone at the table … Harry took a step to the left to see, and then hurriedly stepped back. 

It was Lucius Malfoy, head in his arms, a collection of empty glasses beside him. 

Harry shrugged a quick apology to the barmaid and turned to leave. He could brew up a passable Dreamless Sleep himself if it came to that, and Mr McAuley was safe enough at the Centre. He could tear a strip off Malfoy the next time they crossed paths, he need never know …

Harry glanced back over his shoulder and saw that Malfoy already knew. It was just as well that looks couldn’t kill, and that Malfoy didn’t seem inclined to use the words and wands that could at this very moment. Harry pointed to the door, and Malfoy nodded curtly. 

Once outside, Harry drew a deep breath. He leaned against the wall and waited. All of the crossness that had sent him out in pursuit had evaporated. It wasn’t as though Malfoy had hurt Mr McAuley in any way, he’d helped him, really. And then he’d helped him again yesterday. 

Harry would probably have done the same if he saw someone suffering and thought he could ease it. In fact, he realised as he thought of Transfigured flowers, levitated push chairs and innumerable small acts of assistance, he had done the same, over and over.

‘What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?’ Malfoy demanded, storming out of the pub.

‘I was looking for you.’ 

Malfoy frowned. ‘I told you to stay away from my family, Potter. Seeing you is the last thing he needs.’

‘I’m sorry. I had no idea … but I’m sure he didn’t see me, I left as soon as I …’ Harry ran out of words.

‘As soon as you what?’

‘As soon as I saw him,’ he finished.

‘Disgusting, isn’t it?’ Malfoy asked, lifting his chin proudly.

Harry shook his head. ‘It’s not disgusting … it’s … it’s pitiable.’

‘I’m sure my Father will be ever so grateful for your pity, Mr Potter. I’ll pass it onto him at the first available opportunity. Are we done?’

And Harry’s anger came back. ‘Get over yourself, Malfoy. I’d feel sorry for anyone in that state, because I know that’s where you end up after everything else has fallen apart. And what you seem to be forgetting is that I know exactly what fell apart for your father, and exactly how badly it fell.’

Malfoy’s hand went to his hip – his wand, Harry guessed – then stopped. With an effort, he composed himself. ‘You’d know better than most,’ he said, tight-lipped.

‘Yes. I bloody well would,’ Harry said, only just able to stop himself from shouting. ‘And you can stop pretending he’s a victim, he made every single choice that brought him here.’

Malfoy winced. Harry realised he had been cruel.

‘ _You_ didn’t,’ he said, in fairness.

Malfoy snorted. ‘Of course I did. I just didn’t know what those choices meant.’ He drew a breath. ‘You came looking for me. Why?’

Harry took the proffered neutral ground. ‘Mr McAuley. He’s run out of the potion you made for him.’

‘Ah.’

‘Yes. Ah.’

Malfoy looked at him expectantly for a full minute. ‘I’m waiting for the lecture on the Statutes of Secrecy and how you will be forced to call the Aurors.’

Harry rolled his eyes. ‘Shut up, Malfoy. Are you going to help him?’

Malfoy gave Harry a long look before nodding. ‘I’ll be there in half an hour or so.’

‘Good. Thank you.’ Harry hesitated. ‘Do you need any help …’

‘… With my father? I have money, there are taxis. No, thank you.’

‘Right, well …’

‘I’ll see you at the Centre. In half an hour.’

Aware he had been dismissed, Harry turned and walked away. As he made his way back to the Centre, a series of witty and incisive comebacks occurred to him. It was probably just as well none of them had appeared when needed. He and Malfoy seemed only to ever be a few seconds away from nose-breaking or Unforgiveables.

He met up with Celeste on Kellett Road. 

She waved at the sight of him. ‘I’m off for a cuppa with Melly. Rob’s on for the rest of the weekend and Monday, see you Tuesday.’ 

‘Have a good one,’ he replied. ‘Did Ron and Hermione get away?’

‘Not long after you left. I like those two, they’re good value. Tell them to come round more often, tell them to bring Justin, too, I haven’t seen him in ages.’

‘I’ll see if I can get everyone in for dinner next weekend,’ Harry offered.

‘That’d be grand. Not Friday night, though, Mum’s got a fundraiser on and I promised I’d be there.’

‘Saturday, or Sunday lunch.’

‘Lovely. Catch you, Harry.’

‘Catch you.’

In a better mood, he finished the trip and stopped by Mr McAuley’s room to let him know Malfoy would be here soon. 

‘You’re a good boy,’ Mr McAuley told him. ‘Now bugger off, Blossom and I are watching the game.’

Jan had left a pile of papers in Harry’s office for his signature, and several letters she had drafted in his name, including one to a local school that had expressed interest in the anti-bullying programme. Harry signed away, then scrawled a few notes in the margins, and then paused, remembering. 

He took his phone out and pulled up a number, then pressed call. ‘Dudley? Yeah, Harry. Just ringing to say good luck with your game tomorrow. Yeah? So the other team are all Engineering students, too? No, sorry, won’t be able to make it, but I’ll try for the final, yeah? Course you’ll be in it. OK, got to go. Yeah, take care of yourself. See you.’

Harry put the phone down. Neither he nor Dudley had made their way up to being comfortable around the other yet, but they exchanged phone calls once a week or so, and saw each other every couple of months. It was an unlooked for sort-of friendship, but Dudley’s genuine relief and pleasure that Harry had survived the war would have made it churlish not to try.

He looked at his watch. Nearly time. He stood up, and determined that he would try again, though he liked his odds far less where Malfoy was concerned.

Fifteen minutes later, he was walking up and down outside the Centre to keep warm and wondering whether he should have just hexed Malfoy and called for the Aurors. He turned at the sound of running feet, it was Malfoy, hair flying and satchel bouncing with each step.

‘You’re late,’ Harry said.

‘My father is six foot two, he’s harder to move than you might think.’

‘Did you bring it?’

Malfoy put his hand on the satchel he was carrying. ‘Of course I did.’

‘All right. He’s through here.’

Harry led the way, not pausing to let Malfoy stare, though he was clearly interested in what he saw. 

‘Nice garden,’ Malfoy said, as the door slid open in front of them.

‘It was here when we bought the place. We did it up a little when the renovations were put in, but it didn’t need much.’

‘And you own the place behind?’

‘Yep. Mostly young people in that building, and our substance abuse clinic. Oldies and families in the Front Building, plus the community hall and soup kitchen.’

‘So this is Harry Potter’s dream project?’

Harry hesitated. ‘I funded it. It’s more Celeste’s dream, Dr Fletchley. She’s Justin’s cousin.’

‘Justin?’

‘Finch-Fletchley, from school.’

‘Oh, right, the Hufflepuff. And she’s a …’

‘Muggle, yep. And a good doctor. Mr McAuley’s in this one.’ Harry stopped outside the right door and knocked.

They were both invited in, and offered tea. Harry noted that the television was turned down in honour of Malfoy’s visit. When Mr McAuley asked for his medicine, Malfoy looked at Harry, who nodded.

‘I’ve got it for you here. Nice big bottle in case I don’t see you for a while, now you’ve gone up in the world.’

‘You’re a good lad,’ Mr McAuley said, taking the bottle into his bedroom. ‘Hang on and I’ll get you something for that.’

‘There’s no need,’ Malfoy sang out.

‘Nonsense,’ said Mr McAuley, returning with several sheets of paper. ‘There you go.’

Malfoy spread the papers out on the table, and a smile spread across his face.

Harry looked over his shoulder. They were drawings: two of Blossom, one of a rosebush in bloom, one of Malfoy walking past the library. They were all very good indeed.

‘I can’t take all of these,’ Malfoy said. ‘They’re excellent.’

‘I owe you for the last lot,’ Mr McAuley insisted.

Malfoy picked up the drawing of himself and one of Blossom. ‘I’ll take these two now, and you can pay me with the others for the next batch. You let me know how this lot goes, I’ve made it a bit stronger now you’ve got somewhere safe to sleep, you should get a solid eight hours straight.’

‘Thanks to your friend here,’ Mr McAuley said, indicating Harry.

‘I’m pleased,’ Malfoy said, sincerely as far as Harry could tell.

They chatted a little longer, and then left him to watch the last of the football.

‘I want to talk with you,’ Harry said as soon as the door had closed behind them.

‘Must you? Oh, fine. Where?’

Harry led Malfoy to the cafe, and ordered tea. As soon as it was on the table, he leaned forward.

‘What was in that potion?’ he asked without preamble.

‘It’s my own invention,’ Malfoy replied, with a touch of pride. ‘I based it on Dreamless Sleep, but it’s more natural, so it can be used long-term, not just in emergencies. It lets people have dreams, it just makes sure they’re happy ones.’

‘So it’s harmless?’

‘Of course it’s harmless, what do you take me for?’ 

Harry looked away first, embarrassed. He knew exactly what he had taken Malfoy for in the past, and he also knew how far from the truth that had proven to be.

‘You said you were a herbalist.’

‘It’s mostly herbs,’ Malfoy said. He looked at Harry defiantly. ‘All potions are mostly herbs. Just with a bit of magic, and a few esoteric ingredients. It’s better than the rubbish they hand out in Muggle hospitals, and it doesn’t hurt anyone. I don’t charge those customers. I charge the girls who want something to make their spots go away, or to help them study, and the boys who want to be better on the sports field, or in the sack, and no, I do not give them potions, just perfectly legitimate herbal remedies.’

‘But Mr McAuley …’

‘He’s different.’

‘Why?’

‘Do you know how his wife died?’

‘No.’

‘I suggest you find out.’ Malfoy sighed, and stood up.

‘I was rude to you earlier, and I apologise,’ he said, looking somewhere to the right of Harry’s head. ‘My family’s problems are of our own making, and you weren’t to blame. I’m sorry.’

‘That’s … there’s no apology necessary,’ Harry managed.

‘Well, it’s made, regardless. No doubt I’ll see you again, since the universe seems to have turned against me. Let me know if Mr McAuley needs anything, I’m usually out and about around town in the morning, doing my deliveries.’

Malfoy took a couple of steps, then stopped and turned back.

‘Potter,’ he said. ‘If this isn’t your dream, what are you doing here?’

Harry was more prepared this time. ‘I’m helping,’ he said.

‘You’ve already helped enough. Go back. They must miss you.’

Harry snorted. 

‘Well, you must miss them. You forget, I saw you on your first day in Diagon Alley. The first time you touched a broom. You loved it. Go back.’

He turned again and resumed walking. This time he was gone before Harry could find anything to say.

 

++++++++++++++

 

There were excuses for why it took so long. You couldn’t walk up to a man and ask for the details of the worst day of his life. Well, unless you were Rita Skeeter … And Harry had no idea of the date, or place, and it wasn’t as though murder were so uncommon in London, let alone the rest of the country. In the end, it was Thursday by the time he asked Bill Knight.

‘Why do you want to know?’ the old man asked, suspiciously. 

Harry tried to think like an adult. ‘He might need a counsellor, you said that it happened right in front of him. If you think it would help, we can arrange for that. He hasn’t seemed very keen on talking to anyone on the psych team, but if we have reason to believe he should, we can make more of an effort.’ 

Mr Knight nodded, understanding. ‘I think you should make him talk to someone. He never got over it, you see. They were out for the night, going to the theatre, and she didn’t want him to drive because his eyesight was already a bit bad at night time – this was a few years ago. So they were walking the last bit, when two men came out of nowhere, and they had masks on, and long flowing coats, he thought they were Arabs for a moment, and he’d just stepped to the side of the pavement, with Dulcie, so they could get past, because they seemed to be in such a rush, and they attacked him and Dulcie right there and then on the street with no provocation, nothing. 

‘He said they must have had those electric gun things the Americans have, because the bloke who went for him wasn’t even near him and suddenly he was on the ground and in the worst pain he’d ever known. And the men – though he couldn’t tell they were for certain, of course, because he couldn’t see them – they were laughing the whole time. He said it felt like it went on for hours but other people on the street said it wasn’t even a minute, but when it was over, Dulcie was dead, and the bastards who did it got away so quickly, no one saw them.

‘But that wasn’t the worst thing, Harry. There were witnesses, see, and they all ran to help – people are very good, really – and the police were there very quickly, and at first they were wonderful, they got Frank’s boy there and they stayed with him at the hospital, and they started looking for the bastards who attacked them, but when the doctors said they couldn’t see any sign of what had gone on with Frank, or what had killed Dulcie, they started asking him all sorts of questions, as though they thought he’d done it. If it hadn’t been for all those people on the street who came forward, Frank said he thought he might have gone down over the whole thing.’

Mr Knight leaned forward. ‘And that’s what kills him, do you see? They stopped looking. No one knows who killed her. He couldn’t stand that. He never drank before. Not like me. But afterwards, it was the only thing that kept him going. To this day, no one knows who did it.’

Malfoy knew, Harry thought. He shook his head. ‘Thanks, Mr Knight. I’ll get the team onto it. Even if they just ask him if he’s interested in a chat every day or two, he’ll know there’s someone he can talk to. He might even decide he’d like to.’

‘You’re a good boy, Harry.’ 

‘You’re a good friend, Mr Knight.’

Harry made his excuses and left, stopping by the Back Building and the medical unit there. After a short chat with the psych nurse, he asked her to let Jan and Celeste know that he was off for a bit, then headed out.

He wasn’t sure where ‘around town’ was, but it was mid-morning, so he headed up Brixton Road to search. After twenty or so minutes of fruitless wandering, he spotted a familiar blond head emerging from the big health food shop. Harry ran to catch up.

Malfoy turned warily at the sound of running feet, and relaxed when he saw who it was. ‘Potter,’ he said in wary greeting.

‘Malfoy. I’ve been looking for you. Do you have a few minutes? I can buy you a coffee.’

‘I can buy my own coffee, though I prefer tea. And yes, I have a bit of time.’

‘Good. OK, there’s a good cafe back this way.’

Harry wasn’t actually certain whether or not it was a good cafe, but it was usually moderately full whenever he went by, which he took for a positive sign. A couple of youths coming out grunted aggressively at Malfoy, but the people inside were all quietly minding their own business. They took the table furthest from anyone else and sat mostly in silence until their drinks arrived.

‘I found out,’ Harry said at last.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

‘About Mr McAuley,’ Harry explained.

‘Right. And can I take it from this quiet little chat that you’ve definitely decided not to call the Aurors in.’

‘I was never going to call the Aurors in.’

‘Really?’

‘I was going to shout at you a bit,’ Harry admitted.

‘You always do,’ Malfoy replied, with a hint of a smile.

‘Not always, just usually,’ Harry answered in kind.

They drank their coffees in silence.

‘Malfoy,’ Harry said after he had finished, ‘you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but what on earth is your family doing here? Surely you’d be more comfortable abroad if you don’t think you can go home.’

‘It’s not that simple,’ Malfoy said, peering with interest at the coffee grounds in the bottom of his cup. ‘My father is not well. He has not been well for some time, and he may not improve in the future. If we went travelling, we have friends in most places, and it would be hard to conceal that … that he’s not himself. Here, no-one bats an eyelid. He fits in beautifully.’

‘But you could manage that somewhere in the country, where it’s quiet and there aren’t so many …’

‘Muggles? Yes, we could. But the problem with quiet, out-of-the way places is that they’re the sort of places you go when you’re hiding, so they’re also the sort of places people look for you. And when they find you, there isn’t anyone around to raise an alarm. Besides,’ he grinned, and Harry was surprised to see that it seemed genuine. ‘I need to make a living.’

Harry glanced over both shoulders to check they were not being listened to. ‘You’re as rich as I am,’ he said. ‘Why do you need a job?’

‘Personal satisfaction. You were always telling me that it was pathetic I hid behind my family.’

‘Ha-bloody-ha.’ Harry frowned, an idea had just occurred to him. ‘Did Voldemort …’

Malfoy shook his head. ‘No, at least, not beyond what could be borne. But there aren’t any Gringotts cashpoints, and I’m not welcome on Diagon Alley.’

Harry nodded in sympathy. ‘I know what you mean.’

‘Bullshit,’ Malfoy said, the word sounding strange coming from him. ‘You’re their golden boy. They love you. I bet the papers still run Potter Watch trying to find out where you’re hiding.’

‘They stopped after New Year,’ Harry admitted. 

‘You can go back whenever you like.’ Malfoy raised a hand to forestall Harry’s protests. ‘It’s your choice. If you don’t want to, that’s fine. But it’s your choice and you’re free to make it. It’s not the same for us. There’s no point pretending it is.’

‘You really do have no idea,’ Harry said. ‘It’s … actually, you’d need to see it. Want another coffee?’

‘Tea, thanks.’

Harry ordered more beverages. ‘So how does your father take being surrounded by Muggles?’ he asked, conversationally.

‘Quite well, really. Round our way everyone’s decided that he’s disinherited gentry and doesn’t have a clue how to survive in the real world – which is true enough – so they treat him like a pet. People have been very kind. Probably because they have no idea what he means when he calls them Muggles. But I think he’s starting to make some acquaintances he’d hesitate to kill if he had a wand.’

‘He doesn’t …’

‘Voldemort took it.’ Malfoy’s face closed over for a moment. 

‘Mother’s actually enjoying herself,’ he went on, brightly. ‘She’s fallen in with a group of OAPs and nice Nigerian mums. They all call her the Duchess and she gives them up-dos and helps their children and grandchildren out with their history and English homework. She hasn’t read most of the books, but she’s great at grammar, and she knows a lot of the Classics. Quite keen on Muggle writers, now. They keep her in fresh books, some of them are a bit lurid, judging by the covers, but she doesn’t mind. I think she’s about to join the library.’

Harry wasn’t fooled. ‘Do you miss it?’

‘Every day. You?’

‘Some of it. A lot.’

Malfoy sipped his tea. ‘Weren’t you seeing Weasley’s little sister?’

Harry shrugged. ‘I couldn’t ask her to wait another few years while I decided what I wanted to do with my life. She’s back with Dean Thomas, and they’re adventuring around the world. I’m happy for her. What about you?’

‘Pansy’s in America these days, and Blaise is in Italy, with his mum.’

Harry raised an eyebrow.

‘I could never make up my mind,’ Malfoy said, with a shrug.

Harry found himself laughing. ‘I suppose Zabini was fairly good looking.’

‘The competition at school wasn’t fierce.’

‘You were always hanging out with Crabbe and Goyle.’

‘Exactly.’

The waitress appeared with tea and coffee. They both took a moment to have a drink, and enjoy the fragile peace that seemed to have emerged.

‘So, how are you coping?’ Harry asked.

‘You have come over all Social Work Boy.’

‘That’s what Skater Yoof calls me.’

‘Derrick.’

‘Yeah, Derrick. How do you know him, anyway?’

‘His mum had bad anxiety when she was laid off. Her aunt is one of my Mum’s friends, so I mixed up a few soothing teas and some aromatherapy crap. The smell works a bit, and it doesn’t cost much, so I could give her a freebie and it wasn’t a problem.’

‘That’s kind.’

‘Good business sense, she told all her friends I worked miracles. It was really just lavender and chamomile, she could have done it herself if she went to the library and looked up herbalism.’

‘Which she would never do.’

‘True. Skater Yoof …’ Malfoy shook his head. ‘You really are the worst example of care in the community I’ve seen, and that includes the Salvation Army officers who keep trying to convert my father.’

‘No … really?’ Harry had a clear mental image.

‘I’ll give them full points for persistence, if minus several million for simple common sense. What did you call Phil?’

‘What?’

‘If Derrick was Skater Yoof, what did you call Phil?’

‘Random Little Brother.’

Malfoy snorted. ‘And the others?’

‘Really Good Skater Yoof, Skater Yoof’s Mate who Can’t Skate, Ginger who Does their Homework, Nasty Little Scrote …’

‘That’d be Shaun.’

‘He hasn’t been around for a while.’

‘On an ASBO, his mum sent him up North to live with his grandparents on their farm.’

‘And you say I’ve gone native.’ Harry grinned, and was pleasantly surprised when Malfoy mirrored his expression. ‘The others are a better off without him.’

‘Can’t argue with that.’ Malfoy poured another cup from his pot. ‘So how are you funding the Centre if you can’t get to Gringotts?’

‘Oh …’ Harry put his coffee mug down.

It took a moment for Malfoy to catch up. ‘Of course. You can get to Gringotts. You have an Invisibility Cloak.’

‘Yes. Sorry.’

Malfoy’s lips tightened for a moment, but then he nodded. ‘No, there’s nothing for you to be sorry about. If I had one, I’d use it, too. Only sensible.’

‘You could come with me,’ Harry offered without thinking, then closed his mouth quickly as he realised what he had said.

He saw the temptation flare in Malfoy’s face, and then fade, as reality overwhelmed it. 

‘That ‘s just you being Social Work Boy. You don’t have to save me, Potter, I’m doing perfectly all right on my own.’

Harry could not say if it was guilt or pride that motivated him, but he found himself rolling his eyes. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no “saving” about it, it’s a simple offer of a basic favour. I’ve lost track of who owes whom for not being dead during the war, so just show a bit of grace and accept it.’

‘ _You’re_ lecturing _me_ on manners.’

‘Fine.’ Harry downed the remains of his coffee. ‘Don’t.’

‘Would we both fit under that cloak?’

It was a good question. ‘Probably. It’s a bit close, we’d need to walk along right beside each other. Or, more sort of one in front of each other.’

Malfoy’s eyes twinkled. ‘I usually insist people buy me more than a cup of tea before I put myself in that sort of position, Potter.’

Harry was horrified to find himself blushing.

Malfoy laughed. ‘Right, I don’t care if the trip’s off, that was completely worth it.’

‘Trip’s still on,’ Harry said, desperate to move the topic on. ‘When do you want to go?’

‘Now?’

Harry looked for a reason to delay, and couldn’t see one. ‘All right. I’ll have to stop at home and get my cloak …’

Malfoy interrupted him. ‘Seriously? You’re seriously going to take me?’

‘Why wouldn’t I?’

‘Why would you?’

Harry found the answer came readily. ‘Circumstances have changed in the last few years, so have you. I should, too.’

Malfoy frowned suspiciously. ‘Did Granger send you on a conflict resolution course?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ (It had been Celeste.)

Malfoy looked levelly at him. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to. I’m actually just really pleased that you offered. Strange, isn’t it? I think I’ve finally learned to appreciate decency. Took long enough.’

Harry stood up. ‘Malfoy,’ he said, ‘come on. Enough blather, let’s go to the bank.’

And as Malfoy smiled the first genuinely happy smile that Harry had ever seen on his face, Harry decided that, regardless of the fact it was likely to end in disaster, this was probably worth it, too.

Harry paid for their drinks and they set off down the road at a brisk pace. ‘My place first, then we can go straight from there,’ he said.

Malfoy nodded. ‘I can wait here if you like.’

‘Why bother?’

‘You’re in hiding, I wasn’t sure you’d want me to know where you lived.’

‘I’m not hiding from you, I’m hiding from deranged fans, if you must know.’

‘Well, then you’re definitely not hiding from me,’ Malfoy said, before dissolving into laughter that made it hard to keep walking so quickly.

‘Laugh away, but you haven’t seen them.’ 

‘It’s a sorry state of affairs. You were their saviour, Potter. You never hid from Voldemort,’ Malfoy declared, keeping the dramatic hand gestures to a minimum.

‘I most certainly did! I spent months on end in a bloody tent, thank you very much.’

‘Fair enough. So are we walking to your place?’

‘No, we’ll have to Apparate. Do you want to go separately? Or I can Side-along you …’

‘I don’t even know where you live.’

Harry stopped dead, causing a man who had been loping down the street behind them to mutter about young people today as he avoided crashing into him. 

‘I thought you’d been there on lookout duty, during the war.’

Malfoy stared at him. ‘You’re back at Grimmauld Place?’

‘It’s mine. Seemed sensible.’

‘But surely that’s the first place people would look for you.’

‘A few,’ Harry admitted. ‘But they were all Death Eaters. I stunned them and called in Kingsley.’

‘Good,’ Malfoy said with grim satisfaction. ‘I can get there under my own steam. It’s quiet down there.’ He pointed down the laneway across the road. ‘Is it safer to aim for your doorstep, or the park?’

‘Doorstep,’ said Harry, crossing the road with him. ‘It’s number twelve.’

‘No, really? Here I was thinking it was another of the many unplottable houses that litter Belsize Park …’

Harry missed the rest of Malfoy’s sarcasm, he had already Apparated.

Kreacher met them as they barrelled in through the door. ‘Master Harry … Oh! Young Mr Malfoy!’

‘Hello, Kreacher. You know Malfoy then.’

‘He is Mistress Cissy’s boy, Kreacher is very fond of Mistress Cissy, as was Master Regulus …’

Malfoy nodded politely to the house-elf. ‘My mother was very fond of her cousin, she still talks about him sometimes.’

Kreacher’s face creased up in something that could very well have been a smile. 

‘Just stopping in for a minute to pick a few things up,’ Harry said, bounding up the stairs. 

‘Will Master be back for dinner? There is pie.’

‘Before seven, I promise.’

Malfoy followed him up the stairs and stopped, staring at the row of House-elf heads. 

‘Potter?’

‘Kreacher likes them,’ Harry said, his hands held open to show that he was powerless to argue.

Malfoy nodded and looked about. ‘Generally quite nice.’

‘Thanks,’ Harry replied, resuming his stair climb. ‘Kreacher’s responsible for most of it, but I did some painting and wallpapering. It was surprisingly fun. Right, in here.’

Malfoy waited at the door, while Harry rummaged through his drawers until he found the cloak. 

‘So, what do you think? Might be safest to go near the corner of Knockturn Alley?’

Harry waited while Malfoy considered the options. ‘Back of Flourish and Blott’s is usually quiet,’ he said. ‘That’s where we used to Apparate to.’

‘Rightio then. Back outside and we’ll head off.’

Kreacher was still waiting in the hallway when they returned downstairs. ‘Will Master have a guest for dinner?’ he asked, eyeing Malfoy with approval.

‘Er …’ eloquence failed Harry again.

‘I’m afraid I have a prior engagement, Kreacher. Another time,’ Malfoy said, with a courteous half-bow.

‘Kreacher would be happy to cook any favourites,’ he offered. ‘And if there was interest, there are many tales of Master Regulus that Kreacher can tell.’

‘Thank you,’ Malfoy said, waving as he followed Harry out the door.

‘Took me years to get a civil word out of him,’ Harry grumped mildly.

‘You forget, I’m a member of the family, Potter.’

Harry peered at him. ‘Now I look, I can see the resemblance.’

‘Ha ha. Do we put this thing on before we go or once we get there?’

Harry thought. It was probably safe to Apparate uncovered, but not definitely. ‘Now’s best. Stand close behind me, and I’ll Side-along both of us. When we get there, we’ll need to walk very carefully.’

‘All right, I’ll follow your lead.’

Malfoy stood behind Harry and put an arm lightly around his waist. Harry hadn’t meant quite that close, but it would seem impolite to say so now, so he threw the cloak about the two of them and concentrated on Apparating instead. 

It had been a good choice. Two young witches were having a quiet gossip in the lane and they looked around at the sound of Harry and Malfoy’s feet hitting the ground, confused when they saw no-one there.

With a minimum of whispering and shoving, they made their way through the narrow gap between Flourish and Blott’s and Madame Malkin’s, then turned right. It was a short walk to the bank, and once there, only a moment’s wait until another customer came out and they could slip in unnoticed through the great bronze doors.

Harry pushed open the silver doors himself, and checked for other wizards or witches inside the bank’s main hall. There was only one, elderly and intent on bickering with the staff about how long it took to get to his vault and how he did not have all day. 

‘I’m taking the cloak off,’ Harry whispered, and did so.

There was a sigh of groans from the goblin bankers.

Harry walked up to the nearest desk, with Malfoy in tow. ‘Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy to see our vaults, thank you.’ 

‘Yes, Mr Potter,’ said the goblin icily. ‘Pray wait a moment and neither touch nor do anything.’ He clapped his hands and turned in his seat to whisper furiously with his coworkers.

‘Wow,’ said Malfoy quietly. ‘They _hate_ you!’ A grin slowly spread across his face as he spoke.

‘They don’t hate me,’ Harry insisted. ‘They’re just a bit angry still.’ He looked down the hall to the rebuilt section, where the new marble was still some centuries away from gaining the patina of the old, and briefly wondered what that dragon was doing now.

Another goblin appeared. ‘If sirs will come this way,’ he said, gesturing towards one of the doors that led from the hall. He did not offer his name, but nor did he spit at their feet, so Harry felt satisfied by the level of customer service. 

‘So what do you do with Galleons in the Muggle world?’ Malfoy asked as they hurtled down the rails towards his family’s vault.

‘The goblins have a service for changing them into pounds,’ Harry explained. ‘Appalling charges, but it’s not as though there are many options. You can change them directly for much less at a few of the larger Barclay’s branches, where there are Squibs on staff, but it’s a lot of effort and it involves having a Barclay’s account.’

Malfoy nodded. ‘If we do this again, I might set one up.’

‘We could do it again,’ Harry offered.

Malfoy patted his shoulder. ‘Let’s wait until we’re done and see if we avoid killing each other this time, shall we?’

Neither of them took long inside their vaults. A bagful of gold was easy to pick up, and the money changing service was very close to the main hallway on the way back. The goblin who was escorting them stayed mostly quiet, but did take advantage of a few opportunities to point out increased security measures. 

‘We’ve had a thorough rethink since some problems were exposed a few years ago,’ he said, glaring at Harry.

‘That’s _excellent_ news,’ Malfoy replied. ‘I feel thoroughly at ease knowing my family’s money is in such safe hands.’

Harry rolled his eyes, but the goblin bowed politely.

Once they both had fat rolls of pounds stuffed deeply into their pockets, Harry paused before they stepped back out into the main hall. ‘Should we get under the cloak here, or wait until the main doors?’ 

‘Won’t the goblins think it’s weird if we do it here?’ Malfoy asked.

‘Good point. I usually wait.’

They stepped back through, and the first face that Harry saw was that of Augustus Rookwood. Without pause, Harry spun on his heel and threw the cloak over Malfoy, at the same time as drawing his wand from his pocket. 

‘Could we have some Aurors in here?’ Harry demanded loudly, wand trained on Rookwood. 

Rookwood went for his own wand, but found his arm gripped by two goblins. 

‘No duelling in Gringotts!’ one of them shouted, forcing Rookwood to his knees. 

Harry kept silent, his wand not wavering, aware of Malfoy right behind him.

The word must have been passed out, because less than a minute later the doors crashed open and six Aurors ran in, wands drawn. 

‘Slow down!’ shouted the oldest goblin. ‘The prisoner is already detained. Mr Potter, would you please put your wand away? Thank you for not using it. This time.’

Harry pocketed his wand as half of the Aurors looked up at him. He didn’t really know any of them, though one or two were people he had seen around the Ministry and during the war. 

‘That’s Augustus Rookwood,’ Harry said quickly. ‘He’s wanted. I’ve got to go.’

‘But Harry …’ one of the younger Aurors said. He stopped at an elbow into his ribs from the witch standing beside him.

‘Thank you, Mr Potter. Good to see you’re well. We’ll take it from here,’ she said, nodding to him courteously.

Harry returned the gesture and all-but ran from the bank, Malfoy’s steps right behind his. He was in such a rush to escape that he did not stop when Malfoy hissed ‘Potter!’ but instead barrelled on straight through the doors …

… and into chaos. There was a brief moment when he appeared in the alley and nothing happened, save a few heads turning in his direction. But then a voice cried ‘Harry Potter!’ and another took it up, and within seconds, people were rushing towards him from all directions, some with their arms out-stretched and some pulling paper and quills from their bags.

In addition to his name, he could hear cries of ‘Thank you!’ and ‘I love you!’ and ‘Where have you been?’

And then there was a rustle behind him and his cloak was thrown over his head, and Draco Malfoy had his arms around him and was saying ‘Grimmauld Place!’

They arrived in the park, not on the doorstep, and took a few staggering steps as they landed, with Malfoy eventually righting the both of them. Harry looked around, but there was no one on the street, and so he pushed the cloak back from his face. 

Malfoy let go of him, and stepped out from under the cloak himself. He folded it, silently, then handed it back to Harry.

‘You weren’t joking,’ he said.

Harry shrugged. ‘I kept hoping it would die down after the first few weeks, and then when it didn’t, well … You can’t live like that.’

Malfoy shook his head. ‘No. No, you can’t.’

‘I just wanted it all to be over, so I could just be normal, you know?’

‘Yep. I know.’

They stood and looked at each other for a long moment. 

Malfoy smiled. ‘Still, you’ve done a good job with all your waifs and strays. Half of them would still be on the street if you were being a normal wizard.’

‘Yeah,’ Harry agreed. ‘It’s not all bad.’ 

‘Thank you,’ Malfoy said. ‘For the money, and for hiding me from Rookwood.’

‘It’s fine. It was fun. Mostly. Thank you for getting me out of there.’

‘Not at all.’ Malfoy patted his pockets. ‘That’s the rent covered for the next few months, and some new clothes. Mum will be thrilled, she’s been wanting some boots, says Muggles do brilliant ones.’

Harry grinned. ‘Please give her my regards. Oh, no, don’t, sorry, I forgot that I have no idea you’re here.’

‘I’ll see if I can find a way to break it to her gently,’ Malfoy promised. ‘I’ll see you at the Centre, yeah? Going to come by and see Mr McAuley tomorrow.’

‘See you there,’ Harry said.

And with that, Malfoy was gone.

 

++++++++++++++

 

Celeste had taken the day off to prepare for her mother’s charity do, so Harry was going over the week’s clinic reports with Rob when Malfoy appeared nervously at his office door. 

‘I’ll be about five more minutes,’ Harry said. 

‘Good-oh, I’ll go and bother Mr McAuley a bit more,’ Malfoy replied.

Rob waited until he’d gone before he grinned. ‘That’s the first aid boy from the other day,’ he said. ‘You’re a dark horse.’

‘A what?’ Harry was briefly confused. ‘Oh, no, Malfoy’s from school, he’s … actually, I’m not entirely sure what he is. Halfway between an old enemy and a new friend, perhaps?’

‘Well, if you don’t want him …’

‘I’ll put in a good word for you should the opportunity arise.’

‘I worry about you, Harry. Too serious by half. At your age I was doing many appalling things with many appealing young men.’

‘Rob, you’re only twenty-nine.’

‘Which is why I am still doing many appalling things. You should try it. With girls if you’d rather.’

‘Here.’ Harry pushed the last batch of forms back across the desk to him. ‘That’s the lot. I can’t believe how well the addiction programmes are doing.’

‘I can’t either. I think the integrated care accounts for some of it, but there must be something else going on, because we have the best rates in the country for people getting clean at the moment.’

‘Maybe heroin is suddenly unfashionable?’

Rob snorted. ‘Yes. With so many supermodels turning to H, the Brixton cognoscenti have declared the brown powder officially too popular for words, and have turned instead to herbal tea.’

‘Maybe you and Celeste are just really, really good?’

Rob shook his head. ‘I think it’s more likely they’re embarrassed. They live next door to all those nice old people, and the families, and they see a lot of people who’ve suffered because of choices other people make for them, and they realise that they’re the ones doing this to themselves.’

‘You’re secretly deeply profound, Rob.’

‘Go and see your hot young friend. I’ve got to lecture a room-full of breastfeeding mums on nutrition in twenty minutes.’

Malfoy was sitting in the garden with Mr McAuley and Blossom, tossing a stuffed toy for the little dog to chase. With the sun streaming through his hair and a bit of colour in his cheeks, Harry supposed that he was reasonably good looking. Though he wasn’t sure it would be a good idea to set him up with Rob, he’d seen the long string of ex-boyfriends the young doctor now routinely avoided.

‘How’s it going?’ Harry asked Malfoy and Mr McAuley.

‘Very well, thanks,’ Mr McAuley replied. ‘Draco’s come to give me something for my shakes, and I found out there’s a hot water bottle in the kitchen last night. Blossom and I enjoyed that very much, I had it up against my gammy hip, and she slept on top of it over the covers. Thought it was a little water bed, didn’t you, old girl?’

‘It was cold last night,’ Malfoy agreed. ‘Nothing like a good hot bottle on a cold night.’

‘You need a girlfriend!’ Mr McAuley declared. 

Malfoy snorted. McAuley shook his head at him.

‘Or a boyfriend,’ he added. ‘I’m not a bigot, whatever makes you happy. But you shouldn’t be singing the virtues of a hot water bottle at your age.’

Harry managed not to laugh. 

‘Takes up a lot less space in the house,’ Malfoy said, with a grin. ‘No one complains when you bin an old one and grab a brand new one.’

‘Young people. No sense of the important things. Anyway, are you two going to stay here and bother me all day? I’ve got a game of cards on with Bill soon.’

‘We were just going, Mr McAuley,’ Harry said. ‘You take care of yourself. Have you seen any of the doctors yet?’

‘Only the pretty black girl. She wanted me to talk with a head doctor, but they’re all crazier than the crazy people. I probably will, though, just so she’s happy. Beautiful girl, that one.’

‘She is,’ Harry agreed. ‘Coffee, Malfoy?’

‘I’ve got time for a cup of tea.’ 

The cafe was fairly full most afternoons. Prices were a little less than on the high street, and the quality surprisingly good.

Sally was waitressing, one of the Centre’s success stories. Harry had found her sleeping rough four months ago, now she was clean, holding down a job, and studying in the evenings. 

‘Hiya Harry. Draco, good to see you, it’s been ages,’ she greeted them as she came to take their orders. 

‘Hi Sally,’ Malfoy replied.

‘Is there anyone you don’t know?’ Harry teased him. ‘Hey Sally, one latte, one pot of Darjeeling, thanks.’

‘You remembered.’ Malfoy was surprised.

‘It was only yesterday,’ Harry reminded him.

‘My mother says hello.’

‘You told her?’

‘I had to explain where the money came from, she’d have assumed the worst.’

‘Knocked over an off-licence?’

‘Male modelling.’

Sally returned with beverages, and some biscotti, on the house. They drank and ate peaceably for a while, enjoying the afternoon sunlight. This early in spring, it was still quite cool, but the day looked beautiful through the windows.

‘Are you busy tonight?’ Malfoy asked. ‘Only there’s a good band on that I was thinking about going to see.’

Harry blinked in surprised. ‘I’d … I can’t tonight, but another time would be great.’

‘Right, yeah, well, late notice and all. I mean, there’s no obligation, I just thought …’

‘No, I really would like to go,’ Harry interrupted him. ‘I’ve just got a couple of friends coming round and I can’t put them off. Next weekend?’

Malfoy smiled. ‘Next weekend. Bound to be something good on, I’ll check the music papers.’

‘I’m not keen on R&B,’ Harry warned him.

‘Neither am I,’ Malfoy agreed. ‘I’ll stick to bands that sound remotely like the Weird Sisters.’

Harry nodded. ‘Good band.’

Malfoy stood up and picked up his satchel. ‘OK, well, I’d best be off. Take care of yourself, if I don’t see you before, I’ll see you next Friday.’

Harry stood, too. ‘See you soon.’

There was an awkward moment where he would have hugged Ron or Hermione, or shaken hands with Seamus Finnigan, but neither seemed right here. Malfoy looked as though he were having the same internal debate, before he grinned and said ‘See you!’ then turned and repeated the phrase to Sally before leaving.

Sally came over to clear their table. ‘I didn’t know you knew Draco,’ she said.

‘Yeah, we were at school together.’

‘He’s a really good boy, that one. A really good boy.’

‘I’m starting to see that,’ Harry said.

 

++++++++++++++

 

It had been a good dinner. Kreacher had just put a huge bowl of trifle onto the table in front of Hermione, who was praising him for his efforts, when there was a loud banging on the front door.

Ron was first to his feet, but all three of them drew their wands as they ran into the entry hall. After a spot of shoving, Harry opened the door, and a bloodied and bruised Draco Malfoy staggered in.

Harry caught him and helped him keep his feet.

‘Malfoy?’ Hermione questioned.

‘What’s he doing here?’ Ron added.

‘Are you all right? What the hell happened to you?’ Harry asked.

Malfoy’s eyes were swelling shut, but Harry could still see him roll them. ‘I was beaten up, obviously.’

‘But who?’

‘Was it Death Eaters?’ Ron asked, opening the door again and peering out.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, they don’t use their fists. Can I please have a glass of water?’

‘Come inside,’ Harry said, still holding him up. ‘We’ll get you cleaned up. There’s food, if you’d like some.’

‘Thank you. I couldn’t go home like this, and I thought it was late enough your guests might have left.’

‘We’re staying over,’ Ron said. ‘Anyway, how did you know we were here?’

Hermione was looking at them carefully as they walked back into the dining room and Harry helped Malfoy sit down. 

‘Have you two been in contact lately?’ she asked.

‘Malfoy lives in Brixton,’ Harry replied. ‘Kreacher,’ he called. ‘Could you please bring some first aid supplies?’

The elf’s mouth dropped open when he saw Malfoy in the chair, and then he was gone and back with a basket of salves and bandages and bowl of clean water within seconds. 

‘Poor Young Malfoy,’ Kreacher sympathised, passing everything to Harry. ‘The streets aren’t safe for decent wizards.’

‘Yeah, well,’ Ron began, ‘He’s not a … ow.’

Hermione kicked him as she walked past him. ‘Give me those,’ she told Harry. ‘You’re hopeless at healing spells.’

It was true, so Harry gave her the closest chair and drew up another. ‘What happened?’ he asked as Hermione set about cleaning Draco’s cuts and spelling them and his bruises away.

‘I came across a group of people who don’t like me very much,’ Malfoy shrugged.

‘What, normal people?’

‘Ron!’ Hermione turned and glared at him. ‘Harry has been spending some time with Malfoy, this is Harry’s house. Be polite.’

‘Fine,’ Ron said, and settled back into his chair, sulkily.

‘Dealers,’ Malfoy confessed.

‘Why don’t they like you?’ Hermione asked, conversationally as she checked his ribs and focussed on healing two of them.

‘I’m bad for business.’

Harry’s eyes widened in understanding. ‘It’s you. You’re the reason all those junkies have stopped using.’

Malfoy shook his head, and immediately pulled a face to show the action pained him. Hermione traced her wand across his forehead and down his neck, and he relaxed. 

‘No,’ he said. ‘They’re the reason. I just made them a potion that made it easier for them to quit. They had to choose to come and ask for it, and then to take it.’

Hermione looked at him thoughtfully. ‘That’s admirable,’ she said. ‘Right, how do you feel?’

Malfoy reached up and touched his face and ribs gingerly. ‘Good. Surprisingly good. You really know your stuff.’

‘I always did,’ Hermione replied, but without malice. ‘You’ll need a shower, and we’ll need to wash your clothes before you can head home, because you’re not going to get all those bloodstains out with a Scourgify, but I think that’s all the actual damage to you sorted.’

‘Thank you.’

Hermione blinked. ‘You’re welcome.’

‘Have you eaten?’ Harry asked.

‘Not since afternoon tea.’

‘Sit. Have some trifle, you may as well start with pudding after a night like the one you’ve had. Kreacher can bring out some leftovers later.’

Kreacher had not left the room, but rather stayed to be certain that Malfoy was not in serious danger. ‘Kreacher can fetch them now if Young Malfoy would prefer. Or he can cook something fresh. Whatever would be best.’

‘Trifle’s fine,’ Malfoy said. ‘Sit down, no need to fuss over me.’

Kreacher climbed into the chair beside Malfoy’s, and continued to look at him appraisingly. ‘The witch is very clever when it comes to healing charms,’ he said. ‘But Kreacher thinks you should hand over your clothes.’

‘I can’t eat in my underpants,’ Malfoy said with a smile.

Hermione’s lips twitched upwards briefly, and Harry was grateful Ron didn’t notice. 

‘Here,’ said Harry, taking an extra bowl from the dresser and ladling it full of trifle. ‘Dig in. Get some strength back.’

It was an uncomfortable course. Ron alternated between glaring at Malfoy and looking questioningly at Harry and Hermione. Hermione was looking between Harry and Malfoy thoughtfully, and occasionally kicking Ron when he opened his mouth. Kreacher insisted that Young Malfoy should consider going to hospital to be checked out properly, and Harry himself had to force his trifle past the knot in his stomach that had formed when he opened the door on a bloodied and battered Malfoy.

Conversation was not at its smoothest.

Having eaten his way as far as possible through the mound of trifle that Harry had served up, Malfoy put his spoon down. ‘I feel immensely better,’ he declared. ‘Thank you all very much, I should get home. I’ll Scourgify away the worst of it and tell my Mother I went out clubbing. She expects disasters when I do, and will in fact just be grateful I chose to come home at all tonight.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Harry said. ‘At least let me clean your clothes properly.’

‘By “me”, you mean Kreacher,’ Malfoy pointed out. 

‘Of course he does,’ Kreacher said. ‘Master Harry is not allowed to do laundry. Very bad things happen when he tries. Though,’ he added, in a bid to show fondness, ‘he is surprisingly good at painting walls.’

‘Thanks, Kreacher. Come on, Malfoy, we’re about the same size, you can borrow a shirt and trousers for an hour, have some proper dinner, then head home looking presentable.’

‘It’s a good idea,’ Hermione agreed, and nudged Ron in the ribs.

‘Yeah, fine,’ he said with ill grace. ‘You’d give your mum a fright if you turned up like that. And she’s all right. Have some food. I’m going to have a drink.’

Malfoy managed not to grin at the worst hospitality in the world. ‘Thank you, Weasley, Granger. Potter, you’re right. I think a change of clothes would be a good idea.’

Harry led him upstairs. ‘Any preferences for colour, style?’ he asked as they walked.

‘What are the options?’

‘Mostly jeans, T-shirts, hoodies, a few shirts, some suits …’

He turned in time to see Malfoy’s smile. ‘Thought so. You’re not famous for your fashion sense. Jeans and a T-shirt will be fine.’

Harry led him to the second floor and turned off the landing towards his room. ‘Come in,’ he said, when Malfoy hesitated outside.

Malfoy sat on the end of Harry’s bed while Harry rummaged through his drawers. 

‘OK, these are mostly new, and I think they’d suit you,’ Harry said, handing over a pair of jeans and two T-shirts.

‘They’ll be fine.’ Malfoy held the T-shirts up against his chest. ‘Layering, eh? I was wrong, you’re not a complete fashion ignoramus, you just hide your gift.’

‘It’s cold, I thought you might want two.’ 

‘Ah, pragmatism.’ Malfoy looked at the photographs that lined Harry’s walls. ‘Is that your mum?’ he asked, pointing at one.

‘Yeah,’ Harry replied.

‘She’s really pretty.’

‘Thanks. That’s my Dad with her.’

‘Yeah, I knew what he looked like.’ Malfoy smiled at Harry’s surprised look. ‘Aside from the fact that you’re nearly identical, Mum has heaps of photos of her cousins, and your dad was in a lot of the ones of Sirius.’

‘Oh. I’m surprised she kept them,’ Harry admitted.

‘She loved her cousin,’ Malfoy said. ‘Even though she and Sirius disagreed on practically everything, she still loved him. And Regulus.’ 

Harry found it very hard to think about his godfather. He reached blindly for a change of subject. ‘Do you want a shower?’ 

Malfoy’s eyebrows went up.

‘Only, you’ve got blood in your hair, and Hermione missed a bit around the back of your neck, here.’ Harry reached out and touched the spot. Malfoy blinked.

‘Yeah, I probably should,’ he said.

‘Right. Bathroom’s next door, and there’s fresh towels in there, the rolled-up ones.’ 

‘Thank you.’ Malfoy looked up at him intently. ‘Potter …’

‘Yeah? I can stay up and wait for you if you like, or head back downstairs if you want to take a bit longer.’

Malfoy shook his head. ‘It’s nothing. It’s just me. You wait downstairs, I won’t be long.’ 

Ron had already poured the first round of firewhisky when Harry returned, and was most of the way through his glass. ‘I mean,’ he said, ‘All right, he may well have changed, and if Harry is hanging out with him, then he’s probably changed for the better, but I haven’t seen any of that, Hermione. The last time I saw him he was still a little toe-rag.’

‘He has improved,’ Harry said, walking in and picking up his glass. ‘I’ve seen him around quite a bit, and he’s improved a hell of a lot. He’s a better person. You don’t get through all of that and not change.’

‘That’s good,’ Hermione said, before Ron could say anything. ‘And this has been going on for a while? With other people, too? It’s not just with you?’

‘It’s not just with me,’ Harry confirmed, taking a sip of his drink. ‘I think he’s grown up a lot.’

‘About time,’ Ron muttered. ‘Don’t look at me like that, you two didn’t like him, either. You tried to break his nose once, and he did break your nose.’

Hermione nodded. ‘True. But all that just seems stupid now, doesn’t it?’

‘It does,’ Harry agreed.

Ron grunted. ‘Yeah, I suppose. All right, I’ll make an effort.’

Hermione drew her chair closer to his and snuggled against his side. He suddenly seemed more pleased with his decision.

By the time Malfoy returned, they were each onto their third glass, and it was not as measured a portion as the first two had been. Kreacher was still sitting quietly in his chair, shaking his head and muttering about the cheapness of the firewhisky. Kreacher leapt to his feet and took Malfoy’s bundled clothes from his hands, before disappearing off to the laundry.

Harry stood up. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked. It was strange seeing his clothes on someone else, though he had been right, they were very similar in size.

‘Considerably better, thanks. Is that firewhisky?’

‘Yes, want a glass?’

‘Ogden’s Old?’

‘More like Larry’s Last Week,’ Hermione said with a grimace, but she poured another glass anyway.

‘Would Young Malfoy like food?’ Kreacher asked, returning to the dining room. ‘He could have roast lamb and vegetables. Or two types of soup.’

Malfoy looked at the amount of whisky in the glass Hermione had just poured. ‘Probably a good idea,’ he said. ‘Have you eaten, yet?’ he asked the elf.

‘Kreacher ate a little before dinner, and will have supper after he has cleaned up.’

‘You should eat with me. Potter doesn’t mind, do you Potter?’ 

Harry was far too surprised to mind. ‘That’d be great. Kreacher and I often sit down together for dinner when it’s just the two of us.’

‘Beans on toast is a snack, not dinner,’ Kreacher said as he left the room, only to return a few minutes later with a tray piled high with steaming food. He laid out a series of plates before Malfoy, a plate for himself, and, because he knew the rest of them, bowls of general leftovers for the others to pick at.

‘So, Malfoy, I hear you’re no longer evil,’ Ron said. Hermione groaned into her drink, while Harry shook his head in mild despair.

What it lacked in finesse as a conversational opener, the comment made up in directness. Malfoy winked at Harry and then grinned at Ron. ‘That’s right. Now I’m just a general troubled soul. Though having lived in Brixton for over a year and a half, I have to say, Granger, you are a crap advocate for your people.’

‘My “people”?’ 

‘Muggles. Always rabbiting on about rights and protections and how they needed legal representation, when what you _should_ have been going on about is how interesting and adaptable they are. I had no idea! I thought cars were the apex of Muggle civilisation and they’re just nasty things belching smoke into the air. Now I find out about computers, dance music, Turkish food, Manchester United, Vivienne Westwood and Christopher Wren.’

‘Vivienne Westwood?’ Hermione asked, weakly, lifting her glass again.

‘It’s not as though I can afford any of her stuff, but it’s amazingly clever. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s still not as good as the wizarding world out here, but it’s a lot better than I thought it would be. Even the fireworks aren’t that bad. Though your brothers’ ones were better,’ he added, to Ron.

‘Cheers,’ Ron replied.

‘Though the ones at New Years were really good,’ Malfoy went on, between bites of lamb.

‘For the Millennium,’ Hermione said, absently.

‘That’s next year,’ Harry and Malfoy said together, then looked at each other.

Ron rolled his eyes. ‘Oh Merlin, not this again.’

‘Well, it is,’ Hermione replied patiently. ‘There’s no year zero in our calendar, it starts at one, so technically, it’s not two thousand years until next January. Although since it’s a purely arbitrary system anyway, I don’t suppose it matters,’

Ron bowed his head at the conciliatory gesture, for which Harry was grateful. The first six times, this argument had turned nasty.

‘Turkish food?’ Harry asked Malfoy. ‘Have you tried the place up on …’

‘Coldharbour Lane? Brilliant.’

‘Is that the one you took us to, Harry?’ Ron asked.

‘I think so,’ Hermione said. ‘Before you get to the railway?’

‘That’s the one.’

Harry found himself relaxing. No one had thrown any hexes yet, and good food and cheap whisky were keeping the atmosphere convivial. 

‘You were going to tell me some stories about my cousin Regulus,’ Malfoy reminded Kreacher when there was a lag in the conversation. 

As though he had been waiting for the offer, Kreacher leapt in with tales of his young master’s genius at Quidditch and potions, and of the many daring and brilliant deeds he had achieved with both. There were a number of points at which he stopped and obviously edited the story with regard for Hermione’s feelings, but it was nevertheless a creditable performance, and there were cheers and laughs as he went along.

And, at the end, tears, as Kreacher spread his hands and apologised that one tale had no ending, because the Young Master had died before he could complete that adventure. 

Harry was surprised to find his own cheeks damp, and realised that Hermione was crying openly, while Ron was looking carefully under the table for something he’d just dropped. Malfoy was rubbing under his eyes with the back of his hand, and reaching out to touch Kreacher’s shoulder with his other hand.

‘I feel as though I know him after that. Thank you,’ Malfoy said, gently.

Kreacher looked embarrassed, but pleased. ‘Your mother minded him when he was a little boy,’ he said. ‘She was only eleven, but he was five, and he worshipped her. She used to sing him to sleep, lovely song it was. _Lay your head, in your bed …_ ’ he croaked the lines rhythmically. 

‘ _The day is done, the story’s read,_ ’ Malfoy sang the next line. 

‘ _Now it’s time to sleep till morn,_ ’ Ron added, before the two of them sang the last line in unison , ‘ _And greet the new day at the dawn._ ’

‘Blimey,’ said Ron.

‘I thought that was a family song,’ said Malfoy.

Hermione looked between them. ‘I suppose you two are related, distantly. Most of the old families are.’

Malfoy and Ron shuddered, then laughed at each other. 

Ron made a decision. ‘You’re all right, Malfoy,’ he announced. ‘I mean, I still don’t like you, because it’s going to take more than one evening for me to actually like you, in fact, it could take forever, but I don’t actively want to hex you any more.’

‘Thanks, Weasley. Same here.’

‘And making up potions to help people, I approve of that,’ Hermione added. 

‘You’re just laughing to see me living with Muggles,’ he replied, but with a smile.

‘It’s true.’

‘You must have to sell a hell of a lot of skin cream,’ Harry mused. ‘Half your clients seem to be getting by on about five pounds a day, you can’t be making anything out of them.’

‘I do have a few more special clients who make up for it,’ Malfoy admitted.

‘Aphrodisiacs,’ Ron guessed.

‘Quite a few.’

‘Baldness cures?’ Hermione ventured.

‘And not just for heads.’

Harry was laughing with the rest when alcohol and common sense made a sudden lunge for each other in his thoughts and combined to create an epiphany. ‘Felix Felicis,’ he said. ‘That robber, that’s why everything worked so well for him.’

Malfoy held his hands out in apology. ‘He was going to take a gun, it seemed a much better plan.’

‘I’m not sure what the Ministry would say about using potions to aid criminals.’

Hermione waved her hands. ‘Before you two start arguing, we have no idea what you’re talking about.’

So Harry explained the entire story, flying guards, bags and all, and was just working his way up to a moderate expression of righteous indignation when Hermione burst out laughing.

‘That’s brilliant!’ she exclaimed. ‘I mean, obviously, bank-robbery, not ideal, but given that people are going to rob banks anyway, making it as harmless as humanly possible. I mean, the bank’s insured, and insurance companies are bastards …’

‘You are not helping,’ Harry muttered.

‘Oh come on, Harry, the money came from a bank. It’s not like he helped someone mug a little old lady.’

‘Radical,’ Harry whispered into his whisky.

Malfoy bowed his thanks to Granger. Ron was leaning across the table, interested. ‘So, if you can make Felix Felicis, why didn’t you use some tonight and save getting beaten up?’

‘Takes six months,’ Malfoy answered, finishing his whisky and holding his glass out for a refill. ‘And it’s not cheap. I usually rely on my personal charms.’

‘Well that explains …’

‘Cheap shot! I also rely on the fact I can run very quickly, and Apparate when necessary. Pure bad luck that I was accosted from two directions at once tonight.’ Malfoy smiled grimly. ‘I should have Apparated anyway, but I thought there would be a limit to how much Potter could overlook, and people usually hear about things down our way.’

‘Would have been better to Apparate away from thugs than potion-up blaggers,’ Harry muttered.

‘Are you sulking?’ Malfoy asked him.

‘Not really,’ Harry admitted. He knew he ought to be. Or else fuming. But Hermione had been right, it was actually rather funny. He just wished Malfoy had told him earlier. If anything, he was a little miffed.

‘Good,’ said Malfoy. ‘That would be undignified.’

‘Anything but that,’ Harry said, knocking over his now-empty glass. He regarded it with surprise, it had been full just a few minutes ago.

A loud throat clearing from the other side of Malfoy made him jump. ‘Kreacher does not mean to criticise, but it is two in the morning, and Kreacher still has to clean before he can sleep.’

There was a chorus of denials, but as clocks and watches were consulted, it became apparent that Kreacher was in fact underestimating the time a little.

‘Time to go,’ Malfoy said. ‘Kreacher, can I please have my clothes back?’

Kreacher tiredly clicked his long fingers and a pile of freshly laundered clothing appeared on a clean part of the tablecloth.

‘Excellent.’ Malfoy stood up, and pitched forward, his progress towards the ground halted only by Harry’s quick grab for the waistband of his jeans.

Harry righted him, though his own head was far from clear. ‘You should probably stay,’ he said. ‘You’re in no state to Apparate, and it costs a fortune for a taxi from here to Brixton.’

‘No, I’m fine,’ Malfoy assured him. Harry let go and Malfoy tottered off to his left, ending up against the dresser. He turned around and smiled apologetically at Harry. ‘You know, Potter, I will stay if you don’t mind. It appears I’m far too slaughtered to get home.’

Harry managed not to laugh, and held a hand out to steady Malfoy as he made his way back to his seat. ‘Kreacher, I hate to ask, but can you make up another bedroom? Sorry, Malfoy, I only did the two.’

Malfoy looked from Harry over to Ron and Hermione. ‘Well, they can share,’ he said. ‘Obviously they want to.’ 

Harry blinked. He looked across the table, in time to see his friends exchange guilty smiles. ‘Of course. Naturally. Obviously …’ he stammered.

‘We don’t mind,’ Hermione said. ‘Less work for Kreacher. Ron can stop in with me.’

Her face was a picture of innocence, but Harry could also see Ron, who looked as though he had just been given a large bottle of Felix Felicis. Harry didn’t want to think about it. 

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘All right, Malfoy, you can have Ron’s room, it’s on the same floor as mine, next to the bathroom. The sheets are clean. Do you need some pyjamas?’

Malfoy stood up more accurately this time, and even managed to pick up his clothes this time. ‘I’ll be fine. G’night you two,’ he nodded at Ron and Hermione. ‘Thanks, Kreacher. Oops …’ He did not quite manage to navigate the door.

‘Oh for Merlin’s sake,’ Harry sighed. ‘Stay there. You two all right? OK then, see you in the morning. Night, Kreacher. Excellent dinner.’

Harry took Malfoy by the arm and helped him to the stairs. ‘Can you climb them?’ he asked.

‘Of course I can.’ Malfoy made his way swiftly up the first three to prove his point, then paused significantly before trying the next one. ‘Slowly might be better,’ he admitted.

‘Here,’ Harry said. ‘Give me your things.’ He took Malfoy’s clothes from his unresisting hands, and then, for good measure, slung Malfoy’s arm over his shoulder. ‘Lean on me,’ he instructed, and Malfoy did.

They had all drunk more of the whisky than Malfoy, Harry thought, and yet he was the drunkest by far. Harry supposed that Malfoy would not be likely to indulge regularly, given … well, given the circumstances. He shook his head. 

‘You’re a silly bugger,’ he said, pacing himself to Malfoy’s careful steps. ‘You shouldn’t have drunk a thing after what you went through tonight.’

‘Would be impolite not to,’ Malfoy mumbled. ‘Everyone else was.’

‘Malfoy, _seriously_ , you know that’s the worst excuse in the world.’

‘True, but this time I also wanted to.’

‘Couldn’t face us sober, eh?’ Harry teased. 

Malfoy stopped and looked at him. ‘No,’ he said. But then he smiled brightly, and Harry halted the frown that had started to draw his brows down, and instead smiled back at him. 

‘Come on, Malfoy. You could probably do with a Sobering potion before you go to sleep.’

‘Glass of water will do it. And a fry-up in the morning. Tell Kreacher, we’ll need bacon.’

‘I’m sure he has that in hand,’ Harry promised, negotiating the turn of the stairs and into the corridor that led to their rooms. 

He sat Malfoy down on his bed, left his clean clothes on top of the chair near the door, and went into the bathroom, returning with a glass of water, and a toothbrush still in its packet. 

He held up the latter. ‘You’ll want this in the morning.’

Malfoy lay on top of the blankets, trying to unlace his shoes. ‘I think Weasley knotted these,’ he complained.

‘Good grief. Give it here.’ Harry took a flailing foot and undid the lace with little effort. He repeated the manoeuvre with the other. ‘Right. Get under the blankets, it’s not warm in here.’

Malfoy obeyed. ‘You’re a good person, Harry Potter,’ he said, blearily. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about all the potions.’

‘That’s all right.’

‘You were upset.’

‘Only because I thought you trusted me.’

Malfoy sat up. ‘I do trust you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t trust you.’

Harry smiled at that. It was silly, he knew, but he was genuinely pleased to hear Malfoy say it. ‘Well, that’s good. You should trust me. Now here’s your water, and I’m putting the bin beside the bed in case you need it and can’t get to the loo in time. I’m next door, in case of disasters.’

‘Thanks, Potter.’

‘Sleep well, Malfoy.’ Harry reached to turn out the light, but Malfoy called his name.

‘You shouldn’t blame them, you know,’ he said.

‘What?’ Harry was confused.

‘All those people in Diagon Alley. You shouldn’t blame them. You’re even famous in my house. You always were. I grew up hearing stories about you. Even later, when I more or less wanted you dead, it was still kind of cool we were both in the same year.’

‘Right …’

‘So it’s not really their fault, you see. Not yours, either, of course. It’s just what it is. They’ll get over it. You should probably go back. I got over thinking you were exciting by about the second or third time I met you.’

Harry nodded. ‘I’ll take that under advisement.’

‘I mean, you’ve got nice eyes, but people can totally resist you if they put their minds to it.’

‘Thanks Malfoy, that makes me feel much better.’

‘G’night.’

‘Night.’

Harry turned the light off and closed the door, leaving it open just a crack so Malfoy would be able to see the light from the hall if he needed to go out in the night.

He thought about falling straight into bed, but decided in favour of a shower and toothbrush first. Ten minutes later he was glad he had, as he felt both more human, and warmed through. He ran the few paces to his room in bare feet, then leapt into bed before using his wand to flick the light off and leaving it and his glasses on his bedside table. Snuggling his feet down under the covers, he crooked one arm under his pillow, to raise it to the perfect height, then closed his eyes.

From the room below, he could hear muffled laughter and exclamations, and then a steady rhythmic squeak. 

Harry reached out and groped blindly for his wand. He held it gently to his own forehead, muttered a word, and fell into a deep sleep, where sound could not follow.

Malfoy woke him the next morning. He was peering around the side of Harry’s door, and knocking just loudly enough to intrude on Harry’s consciousness. 

‘Sorry to wake you,’ he apologised as Harry rubbed sleep from his eyes and pushed his glasses into place. ‘I just wanted to let you know I’m heading home.’ 

‘What about breakfast?’

‘It can wait. Should let Mum know I’m fine, she always thinks I’ve been murdered when I stay out. Thanks for last night, and the clothes,’ he held up the bundle of Harry’s clothing, ‘Still mostly clean, just a bit wrinkled from being slept in.’

‘All good.’ Harry sat up and pushed his hair back. ‘Glad you’re OK after all that. You should probably be a bit more careful where you go.’

Malfoy shrugged. ‘I’ll just Apparate out next time, and say you told me to if any Aurors appear. They’ll probably be so impressed I know you that I’ll get off without even a wrist-slapping.’

‘Sounds like a plan. Oh, hey …’ Harry swung himself out of bed and went to his desk. ‘I’ve just remembered. I wanted to give this back to you at the end of the war, but you all left before I came back down to the Great Hall.’ He found what he had been looking for, and turned, holding the wand out to Malfoy.

‘Is that …?’

‘Yeah. Take it, it’s yours.’

Malfoy reached out halfway, then dropped his hand. ‘No, you won it, it’s yours.’

‘I’ve already got one,’ Harry said. ‘You wanted it back before. It’s a nice wand, friendly. You should have it, it was your first one.’

Malfoy bit his lip, but this time he reached out and took the wand. He smiled once it was in his hand. ‘May I?’ he asked, pointing at the pile of books and magazines on the floor beside Harry’s bed.

‘Just don’t set fire to them.’

‘ _Wingardium Leviosa_ ’ Malfoy whispered, and the air was a sea of dancing papers for a moment, before everything reassembled itself neatly as it had been.

Harry grinned. Malfoy’s face showed as much joy and pride as he had ever seen on it, and all for a First year spell.

‘There you go,’ Harry said. ‘All properly restored.’ 

And then he suddenly had a face-full of canvas jacket and fine blond hair, and strong arms were wrapped around him and squeezing, not unpleasantly. Harry had just enough time to rest his own hands on Malfoy’s shoulders before he was released. 

Malfoy looked at him searchingly, then smiled crookedly. Harry smiled back.

‘It is just me, isn’t it?’ Malfoy asked.

‘I’m not awake enough to follow,’ Harry admitted.

‘No,’ Malfoy said with a laugh. ‘You’re not. Not to worry. I’ll see you soon, yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And thanks for this.’ He held up the wand. ‘Thanks for everything.’

‘What are friends for?’

Malfoy beamed at that, and caught Harry up in another quick embrace, before turning and all-but fleeing from the room and down the stairs. 

Harry heard the door bang shut, and then sat back down suddenly on the side of his bed, a furrow of concentration forming between his brows. He stayed there for a few minutes, thinking, before changing from his pyjamas into a fresh T-shirt and jeans.

Kreacher was busy at the hob when Harry came into the kitchen. ‘Kreacher heard Master Harry moving about and thought he would like some bacon and eggs after last night.’ he said.

‘You’re too good to me, Kreacher,’ Harry replied absently.

‘Master Harry is right,’ Kreacher said, then looked around when there was no laugh at his little joke.

A few minutes later, Harry felt his elbow poked. 

‘Breakfast,’ Kreacher said, pointing at the plate in front of him. ‘Unless Master Harry would like to wait for his friends?’

‘I think they’ll be a while yet,’ Harry admitted.

‘Is Master Harry troubled?’

Harry thought about his answer. ‘No,’ he decided. ‘I’ve just been considering something Malfoy said. It took me a while to work out what he meant.’ Harry smiled at Kreacher. ‘And that he was wrong.’

‘Ah,’ Kreacher nodded sagely. ‘Wizards are wrong a great deal of the time in Kreacher’s experience. Best to break the news to Young Malfoy gently.’

Harry laughed at that. ‘He’s not the one I’m worried about breaking it to, Kreacher. Anyway, breakfast now, worry later.’

‘Good rule,’ Kreacher muttered, and put the kettle on for tea.

 

++++++++++++++

 

It took Harry a while to formulate a plan. By ten, he had most of the details sorted, so he gave up on waiting for Ron and Hermione to appear. In truth, he was relieved to avoid them a little longer, given last night. He promised himself to spell more soundproofing into the floors before he went to sleep tonight.

He changed his shirt one last time before leaving – not his best, but probably his nicest – and pushed his cloak all the way into his bag, so there was no longer a missing patch of bag where the hem stuck out.

Pushing his hair back into something resembling order and giving his glasses one last clean, he headed off.

The plan nearly fell apart in its first stage. Happily, he was able to rescue it through some extremely fast talking and suggestions of probable hexing, none of which would stand up in a court of law as a direct threat. It did take four times as long as Harry had expected, though, so it was well after three in the afternoon by the time he made it to Brixton.

Harry took a gamble and Apparated to a quiet corner near The Queen. He debated leaving his cloak on, but the street was moderately busy at this hour, and narrow enough that it was likely he would bump into someone. The locals had enough to contend with without adding invisible pavement hazards. 

There were no Malfoys to be seen outside, so Harry waited until two large guitar-carrying locals went in, sidling along behind them. This Saturday afternoon crowd was much more diverse than last week’s had been, though the place still smelled as bad. He spotted blond hair over at the same table, and edged his way closer.

He stopped. He had found Malfoys, just not the right ones. 

Narcissa Malfoy paused in mid-sentence on seeing him, then recovered magnificently to continue speaking without alerting her husband that there was anything out of the ordinary over his right shoulder.

‘You are too harsh on Draco,’ she was saying.

Frowning, Harry took a step closer, and could hear Lucius Malfoy’s response. ‘But my love, the boy needs to see that he is to blame. If only he had been able to carry out the Dark Lord’s instructions, all would have been well. I need to talk to him, I need him to understand that.’

‘You’re a fool, darling,’ she told him. ‘And,’ she said, looking directly at Harry, ‘Draco is hiding from you in the beer garden, so you can’t tell him anything.’

Harry nodded, and walked quickly around the bar, following the same two men out into the beer garden. They joined the busy table outside the door where a band was gathering, apparently in preparation for a later performance. The only other person braving the brisk air was Malfoy, sitting at the farthest point and looking bleakly at the wall.

If Harry had been uncertain before, the rush of sympathy he felt sealed it. He began to walk across the brick paving, rehearsing speeches in his head. Behind him, he heard the door slam open and a growled ‘I am perfectly capable of walking on my own, Narcissa!’

Harry ran the last few steps, grabbed Malfoy from behind and flung his cloak about them both. 

He felt Malfoy tense, and his hand reach for his wand, then relax as he realised what had just happened. And then Malfoy put his hands over Harry’s and leaned back against him, silent, while his father crashed into the band’s table and nearly upset a jug of beer. 

The two guitarists grabbed him and steadied him and told him that he should probably give it up for the day before he did himself a damage. They asked Narcissa if she needed anything. 

‘We were just looking for someone, but he seems to have left. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience,’ she replied, smiling.

The guitarists ignored Lucius’s protests and insisted on half-carrying him back inside, one telling Narcissa that he would get some coffee and some water, and that they could carry him home if she was close.

At the door, Narcissa paused, and smiled her thanks to the rest of the band, then more generally to the back of the beer garden. ‘He’s not always like this,’ she told no-one in particular. ‘He’s always been very good to me.’

Malfoy exhaled slowly. Harry felt a slight catch in the breath, and tightened his hold around Malfoy’s waist.

‘Can we go?’ Malfoy asked quietly.

‘Where to?’ Harry whispered.

‘Away,’ Malfoy replied.

Harry took them to the edge of his favourite pond on Hampstead Heath. The water was empty at this time of year, save for a few cranky ducks, and the dog walkers on the hills were all concentrating on sticks and spaniels. He swung the cloak off them as they arrived, though he kept one arm about Malfoy’s waist for a moment.

It was Malfoy who stepped away. ‘One rescue apiece,’ he said, smiling stiffly. ‘It’s just like the old days.’

‘Malfoy …’

‘Can we not talk about it?’ 

‘Are you sure?’

‘He’s not always like that. Today he’s remarkably bad, in fact.’

‘All right,’ Harry nodded.

Malfoy smiled more genuinely. ‘What were you doing there, anyway?’

‘Looking for you. Again.’

‘Oh. Good. Why?’

Harry reached into his bag and pulled out a folded newspaper. He handed it over wordlessly.

Malfoy sat on the grass and smoothed out the front page. _Daily Prophet Afternoon Special_ read the masthead, with a red banner head underneath: Potter Breaks Silence – Exclusive Interview. There was a photograph of Harry looking stern and disappointed beside another slightly smaller heading: Why Are Death Eaters Still Roaming Free? Saviour Demands Answers.

The accompanying story was embarrassing, if factual, pointing out that Harry himself had single-handedly captured no fewer than seven prominent Death Eaters since leaving the wizarding world.

‘I didn’t mention that six of them had come to my house, conveniently one at a time, and then Rookwood was just good luck …’ Harry said as he sat down and nervously watched Malfoy read.

Malfoy looked up at him at last. ‘It’s not this simple, you know.’

‘I know,’ Harry agreed. ‘But it will mean that there’s public support when Kingsley asks for funds to chase down the last of them. And it will take time, and some people will probably just flee the country. But eventually, you’ll be able to go back. If you want to.’

Malfoy looked down at the paper and read it again, nodding. ‘Thank you,’ he said, at last, looking back at Harry. ‘But why?’

‘You’ll think I’m thick …’

‘Have for years.’

Harry grinned. He shook his head. ‘I worked out what you meant, after you left. And you’re wrong. It’s not just you.’

Malfoy looked at him blankly

‘It’s not. Last night, when you said I had nice eyes, it made me happy. And when you turned up all battered, I was so worried about you, and so angry with the people who hurt you. I mean, it’s different to how things were at school. We’ve both changed since then, and I like the way you’ve changed, and I think you like the way I’ve changed, too, I mean, you’ve actually seen that I can do things without having any sort of Prophecy or being Chosen, I can just do things because I think they’re worth doing. And, well, I thought this would be worth trying at least …’

Malfoy was still looking at him blankly. Harry stammered to a halt as he realised that he had leapt to a conclusion that he assumed was well-reasoned this morning, but that Malfoy may well have been talking about something else entirely. ‘… Sorry,’ he concluded. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’

Malfoy smiled weakly. ‘Oh I would be. I’d be thrilled, except that I obviously accidentally drank one of my own potions this morning and am now hallucinating.’

Harry reached out and pinched him. ‘Idiot.’

The smile that crept across Malfoy’s face was the most genuine one that Harry had seen yet. ‘When did all this come about?’

Harry shrugged. ‘It was a few things falling into place. I noticed that you were all strong and lean when you grabbed me outside Gringotts, and I can’t say I minded being grabbed, and your hair looks amazing in the sun, and then last night, when I heard Ron and Hermione …’

‘Oh Merlin, you too? It was terrifying!’

‘I had to spell myself to sleep,’ Harry confessed. 

‘I had to wait for the blessed unconsciousness of drink. They have no shame, I regret helping them. Sorry, I’m babbling because I’m happy, you were saying that last night …’

Harry was horrified to realise he was starting to blush. ‘Well, it’s just that, I had a brief moment of thinking of you …’

‘While listening to them?’

‘No! Not like that. God, that’s _awful_ , Malfoy …’ The two of them succumbed to laughter for a moment. ‘No, what I mean is that this morning, after you left, I realised that I should have said you could share with me last night. If I’d been thinking. And you weren’t drunk. And I wasn’t, either. But, you know …’

And Malfoy apparently did know, because he was nodding and smiling and looking altogether happier to be alive than Harry had ever seen him.

‘I was going to be all stoic and resist you,’ Malfoy said, confidingly. ‘Prove I could overcome my base urges and be a decent friend, or at least perfectly agreeable acquaintance.’

‘May as well try the base urges first,’ Harry suggested. ‘If it doesn’t work out, we can look at scratch Quidditch games.’

Malfoy shook his head, and reached forward, pulling Harry’s face to his own. 

It was, as far as Harry could tell, an excellent kiss. Certainly not the sort of thing that ought to be left to stand alone without grounds for comparison. Malfoy’s lips were full and strong, and Harry realised it was startlingly thrilling to have someone’s hand be able to cradle the whole back of his neck with their fingers tracking through his hair. When they finally sat back from each other, both looked a little stunned.

‘I think the base urges could work out,’ Malfoy said.

‘Looks promising,’ Harry agreed.

‘And you don’t mind that I mostly want you for your body?’

‘It’s a better reason than most. At least I know you’re not after my money, and you’re certainly not a fan.’

‘Certainly not,’ Malfoy agreed. ‘Though I confess to liking you a bit as a person, but I’m sure that will fade the minute you do something hideous.’

‘I’ll have to rely on my eyes.’

‘Your shoulders, actually. Have you ever looked at them properly?’ Malfoy looked, and so properly that Harry felt himself starting to blush. 

‘I like your neck the most,’ he said. ‘So far.’

Malfoy’s grin was positively wicked.

Harry noticed the sun. Rather than doing something convenient, like shining through Malfoy’s hair or lighting up the nice line of his collarbone that Harry could see with his coat pushed back like that, it was starting to sink towards the horizon.

‘Oh, bugger …’

‘It’s a bit public … Sorry. What’s wrong?’

‘Dinner party, tonight. People are arriving at six.’

Malfoy looked at his watch. ‘It’s after five. You should go …’

‘Don’t be stupid, you’re coming with me. It’s Justin and Celeste, plus Ron and Hermione. Unless … do you think you ought to go home instead?’

‘Not tonight. I usually stay out when he’s like this.’ Malfoy forced a bright expression. ‘Besides, free dinner!’

‘Kreacher always cooks enough for ten, you’ll be evening up the numbers and saving me from gluttony.’

Malfoy smiled. ‘I’ll probably drink too much to Apparate home again.’

‘I’m counting on it. Though that will probably be about one glass, yeah?’

‘A few sips of wine, I was thinking.’

Harry hoped that the grin on his face didn’t look half so ridiculously fond as the one on Malfoy’s, or he would be giving himself away entirely.

‘So, Granger and Weasley are still at your place?’ Malfoy ventured.

‘Yes. I’m thinking that I’ll just walk in holding your hand and take you up to my room and Hermione will look knowing and Ron will pretend the whole thing is not happening.’

‘Good plan. And in your room, we’ll …’ 

‘Have to find some halfway decent clothes to wear for dinner before we head straight back downstairs, I’m afraid.’

‘All good. At least you have a nice big bed for later.’

‘It’s nice to see you focussing on the important things in life, Malfoy.’

‘You were thinking it, Potter.’

Harry allowed this could be true. ‘Come on,’ he said, climbing to his feet and extending a hand. ‘Let’s get you home.’

The hills were bare of walkers, so Harry put his arm around Malfoy’s waist, and slipped them sideways through the space of London.

They were no sooner through the front door than Hermione’s voice sang out from the first floor. ‘Where have you been, Harry? We missed you all day!’

‘I’m betting they only got out of bed for lunch,’ Malfoy whispered.

‘I’m betting you’re right.’ Harry reached out and took Malfoy’s hand firmly.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Are you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Let’s go.’ 

Harry considered that there might be a moment of awkwardness with Ron, but they had survived worse. And if it came to it, he could always point out how thin the floors were in this house, which would be guaranteed to send Ron off into at least a minute of mortification before he came to the conclusion that some things were just worth the embarrassment and weirdness.

Hermione came out of the drawing room at the sound of two sets of feet. She was wearing a party dress and had her hair loose. ‘Oh, Malfoy, you’re … Oh.’ 

She watched them climb the stairs for a moment and then nodded. ‘Right. Lovely. I’m just going to see how Ron’s going with getting dressed. You two had better hurry I think Kreacher is planning to have drinks in the drawing room, starting as soon as the clock strikes six.’

‘Thanks, Hermione,’ Harry said, continuing up the stairs.

‘You look lovely,’ Malfoy added over his shoulder. ‘So she’s going to have a word with Weasley so he doesn’t hex me, right?’ he added as they turned off to Harry’s room.

‘A word, and possibly a slight kicking.’

Getting changed for dinner was made more difficult by the fact they were taking their clothes off and in the same room. A halt was called to experimental kissing early on when it became apparent that it would lead to them either abandoning the dinner, or else being in no fit state to walk down to it. 

Harry reached out to touch the fine scars on Malfoy’s chest when Malfoy took his shirt off. Malfoy took Harry’s hand in his and ran his own fingers over the lines sketched into it through too many battles. 

‘Stop it. It’s all in the past,’ Malfoy said. ‘I’m more interested in the future. The future looks a lot more entertaining.’

Harry grinned.

He did have enough sensible clothes to dress two men for dinner, a legacy of too many funerals after the war, and too many meetings with council since. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the two of them were playing dress-ups, though, but that oddly added to the sense of occasion.

The doorbell clanged loudly, and Harry heard Hermione opening the door and greeting their guests. 

‘Come on, we’re late.’

Kreacher was wandering about the room with a tray of filled champagne saucers, Ron took two as Harry and Malfoy walked in.

‘Hello Justin, Celeste. Sorry I’m late, it’s been quite the day.’

‘I see,’ said Justin, raising one restrained eyebrow at Malfoy.

‘Hello Harry,’ Celeste said, hugging him. ‘Introduce me to your young man.’

‘Celeste, Draco Malfoy. Malfoy, Dr Celeste Fletchley.’

‘Obviously you were at Hogwarts School of Surnames,’ Celeste teased, holding out her hand.

‘It’s very good to meet you,’ Malfoy replied, taking it. ‘Potter has been telling me all about you and your work. I must say, I never would have picked you for Finch-Fletchley’s cousin.’

‘My uncle married an Ethiopian supermodel,’ Justin informed him.

‘It’s more that from what Potter tells me, you’re amazingly organised and productive. We used to call Justin Flighty Finch-Fletchley back at school. Try saying that three times fast. Stop pulling that face, Justin, we were just jealous that half the girls in Slytherin were head over heels for you.’

Celeste laughed. ‘He’s utterly charming, Harry, you must keep him and never introduce him to Rob.’

‘Who’s Rob?’ Malfoy asked.

‘Never mind,’ Harry replied, eyes on Ron.

Ron was shaking his head, but smiling. ‘Really?’ he mouthed.

‘Yeah,’ Harry replied, just as silently. 

Ron shrugged. ‘OK.’ He turned and picked up a tray of canapes from the buffet. ‘Small salmony thing, anyone? Malfoy?’

‘Thank you, Weasley, that’s very kind.’

Harry managed not to laugh as he caught his own expression of approval mirrored on Hermione’s face. 

‘Champagne for Master Harry’s friends. Drink it up, it’s last century’s, it needs to go,’ Kreacher muttered, wandering through again.

‘It’s delicious, but I shouldn’t,’ Celeste said. ‘Unlike some, I have to drive home.’

‘Indulge,’ Malfoy said. ‘You can stay here, there’s a spare room already made up and everything.’

Harry smiled, and changed his drink into his left hand so that his right could dangle beside Malfoy’s unoccupied left, where any accidental entangling would be perfectly understandable by others. 

While small talk swirled around him, he made a short mental list: talk to Kreacher about serving the courses a little more quickly than usual tonight; reassure Justin that he was not Imperiused and had not lost his mind; soundproof the floor; soundproof the walls; and order in bacon. They would definitely need bacon and Darjeeling. 

‘Potter?’ 

He looked up at Malfoy’s quiet voice. The others were debating whether the London Eye was a marvel or an eyesore, while Malfoy was looking at him quizzically.

‘You were miles away,’ Malfoy said.

‘No I wasn’t.’ Harry squeezed his hand. ‘I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.’


End file.
